Little robe
by evil minded
Summary: AU / After a desasterous end ouf fourth year Harry is expelled from Hogwarts and Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will the now fifth year student manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles? And how will Severus handle his new post in a country where people don't know him as a death eater yet? Thanks for reading this story
1. prologue

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Harry's fifth year of magical education

**Summary:**

AU / Harry is expelled from Hogwarts and Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater for once?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house … or rather snow, as there will be a lot of it in this story

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

This story actually is the one that kept me sane throughout the past weeks and that got me back to writing, as it contains two subjects I am holding very dear, music, and languages. It might not be mentioned in the first chapter, of course not, but in later chapters and I will explain things when they are coming up. However, even if I have not finished my other stories, I just had to write this one, I hope you will forgive me and I hope you will enjoy it.

The other stories will be updated soon too.

**Warning:**

Story contains child abuse

Child-abuse is a really serious thing, it is an evil thing ... and there are a lot of children in our world that really would need help without being helped ...  
I think, a lot of readers do not really grasp the meaning behind the words in all the stories here written about an abused Harry, they read the words, maybe they feel sorry for poor Harry ... but I guess just a few are really able to know what they mean, those words, what they mean for those children in our world ...  
Yet, closing our eyes and pretending it does not exist, is no solution ...  
So I write this to remind all of you who will read this, that there are children in our world which are enduring just such ... and worse ...  
to remind you of your feelings, of your sympathy, and of your understanding ...  
Maybe it will help some of you to handle people, children as well as adults, which are showing any signs - whichever - of once being abused ... with understanding and with help ...

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Little robe  
**

**Chapter one **

**Prologue**

_At first Harry didn't notice what was happening, but then he gasped in pure shock and horror while his eyes darkened with the terror he felt. His muscles flexed to sprint towards the spot where Sirius had dropped to the cold and stony dungeon floor, ready to throw himself at his godfather's side, to block the already still body from further curses, ready to pull him back to life or die in the attempt, not caring about the curses and hexes that still shot through the defence against the dark arts classroom, not caring about the little fact that he himself easily could die, maybe would die anyway._

_He only wanted his godfather back, the only adult person that had been ready to care for him – ever, the only adult person that had been ready to take him from his yearly hell with the Dursleys and the only person that was a family to him, a family, the only thing he ever had wished for._

_And now Sirius was dead – or dying – and it was because of him, because he had been chosen to partake in this damn tournament, because he had managed to get to the cup first, together with Cederic – Cederic who too was dead, laying outside on the grounds near the maze – and because of him too, because he had convinced Cederic to take the cup together with him. And now Sirius too would die, or probably was already dead, because he had come back from the graveyard, because he then had been stupid enough to follow Moody towards the dungeons alone._

_For a split second he wondered why in Merlin's name the defence against the dark arts classroom this year was in the dungeons in the first place, but then the thought went away before he even could grasp at it._

_Only a second or so had passed since Sirius had fallen, a second during which all those thoughts whirled through his mind so quickly that he wasn't able to grasp just one single of them, but he already had turned towards the spot where his godfather now lay motionless, and he had already taken a desperate step to sprint towards the fallen man._

_But then suddenly there was a set of hands on his shoulders, holding him, preventing him from following the only person he had known as a parental figure ever and he tried to brush the hands off, tried to fight against the grip, tried to break free._

_This simply couldn't happen. He simply had to go to his godfather. Didn't they see that there were still all those curses flying through the classroom? Didn't they see that maybe Sirius could be saved? Didn't they see that Sirius still was in danger? He had to go to him. He had to keep him safe … or alive … or …_

_The grip on his shoulders tightened for a moment before the hands slipped off them, loosing their grip by his fight to break free and the next moment two slender arms wrapped themselves around his waist, holding him, lifting him off the floor and into the air and turning him away from the man still laying on the floor, away from the spot where Sirius had died, breaking the eye contact he had with the dead man._

_"No! Let me go!" Harry called out, screamed, trying to squirm out of the tight hold. "__Just let me go __… or __fight me!"_

_"Stop that, Potter." A deep voice said while the person tightened his grip, easily carrying him away. "Calm down __… __hush, child __… __no! Stop fighting me __… __calm down and concentrate on breathing __… __calm down. Calm down, and I'll let you go. You will be quite fine, child, just calm down!"_

_He still struggled, tried to break free, to break away from the tight grip of the arms that were tightly around his waist, that were lifting him into the air, that were turning him away from Sirius. Those arms only would bring him away from his godfather, he knew it. But he couldn't allow that … he couldn't leave now … he had to … he …_  
_"Hush, Potter." The deep velvet voice whispered into his ear just at the same moment when he knew that all his struggling was of no use, that he simply was too weak to fight against the strong arms that encircled him from behind, that he wouldn't be able to break free, that he would be taken away from Sirius and he screamed a scream of pure frustration._

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He woke with a start, panting heavily and gasping for breath, knowing that it had been his own screams that had woken him, those in his nightmare or those in his sleep before waking up – he didn't know – and he only could hope that it had been only in his dream, that his uncle wouldn't come again this night, woken by his screams.

It was August, 21st, but honestly, it was just another day in the Dursleys' house hold, just like July 31st had been.

Harry of course had begun healing from his last more severe beating where he had not been able to move for two or three days, he didn't remember clearly, but still every move he made hurt, and even every single smack he got hurt like hell meanwhile, worse than it normally would as his entire body hurt, every bone, every muscle and every inch of skin, but Harry refused to show his weakness in front of his aunt or uncle, to scream or to cry, for he knew if he showed weakness, then the beatings only would get worse.

And he knew that the next beating would come, sooner or later. It always came, never mind how much he tried. He had learned that a long time ago already.

For so many years he had tried, had tried to please his aunt and uncle, had tried to make it alright, had tired to gain their love, but they never had loved him, never mind how much he had tried and meanwhile – he simply had begun to accept the fact that he never would be loved by them, no matter how much he tried.

His breathing slowly went back to normal and he realized that maybe he was lucky tonight. Neither did he hear his uncle's screaming, nor did he hear his uncle's heavy footsteps and he forced himself to calm down, slowly beginning to sort out the onslaughts of thoughts that still stumbled through his mind like a horde of hippogriffs.

It had been Snape.

It had been Snape of all people who had taken him away from the horrifying scene. He had been angry at first, had fought Snape all the way down the corridor to the man's office, had tried to break free and to run back to the defence classroom where Sirius still had been laying, dead. And by then he had _known _that Sirius had been dead.

But Snape had refused to let him go. Snape had kept his arms around him, never mind how much he had struggled, never mind how much he had kicked at him, never mind how much he had fought to get free, he simply had refused to let him go, had all the time whispered calming words to him, in a voice that was unusual and startling gentle and later on, when he had broken down he had turned him in his grip without releasing him completely, had pressed his head against his chest and had allowed him to cry, to cling to his robes like a small child.

And Snape hadn't even reprimanded him later on for it, neither for breaking down in his arms and crying, nor for kicking and screaming at him, even if he was sure that he had caused Snape several bruises on his legs where he had kicked at him. Snape had not mentioned it once and he even hadn't looked angry. In the contrary.

He even had heard him having an argument when Dumbledore had demanded him to go back to the defence classroom so he could witness the questioning of Moody. Well, it actually had been Barty Crouch junior, but he hadn't known that back then. He had been half asleep back then, after his emotional outburst and after Snape had given him a potion – he still didn't know what kind of potion the man had given him. He had been gone too far to care about that back then. He simply had accepted the vial Snape had held at his lips, had drunken the potion down when Snape had tipped the bottom of the vial.

But for a few more moments he had been aware enough to hear Snape calling the headmaster an irresponsible old fool and that he wouldn't allow him to take him, Harry, back there, that he, Harry, had had enough horror for one evening and he remembered that he had been more than grateful for the Potions Master. He hadn't wanted to go back there. He hadn't wanted to look at the dead form of Sirius once more. He hadn't wanted … he had fallen asleep, still in the Potions Master's arms a few moments later.

He didn't know what it was with Snape, why he had acted so strange that night, but he had learned something back then. He had learned that there was another side to the snarky, dark, evil and mean Potions Master. He had learned that the man actually possessed a kind, gentle and caring side too – a gentle and caring side that still seemed dark and tough somehow, but gentle and caring nonetheless.

Harry remembered that he had tried one last time to wiggle out of Snape's arms, back then, when the man simply had dragged him away from the scene, but already back then he had known that it had been no use. He somehow had known that the man would not let him go. And he had known suddenly that that man wouldn't let him go ever, which had been more than anyone of all the other adults would have done. No one else would have fought him. Anyone else would have been at a loss. No one else would have gone through that trouble, being screamed at, being kicked at.

He remembered how short-tempered most of the adults around him always had been. He remembered that barely any adult had taken any time for him. But Snape had.

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With his usual dark sneer on his face Severus Snape opened the door to Albus' office.

He still was angry at the old coot for his foolish actions during the past few days of school last term, for letting Potter go with Moody down into the dungeons, for demanding Potter witnessing the man's questioning, for reprimanding him because he had refused to allow that irresponsible occurrence and for confronting the boy later without thinking about _how_ to confront him. Well, the boy had destroyed Albus' office during this confrontation, and truth be told – he couldn't blame Potter for it. It served Albus right! _And_ last but not least – he still was angry at the old fool for sending Potter to his relatives without ensuring that the boy got help during the holidays, to deal with all that had happened during the end of last term.

And right now he was angry at the man for calling him to his office when he had been about to just finish a rather complicated potion for which he needed rather rare ingredients – thus ruining the potion during a critical stage that had taken him three days to brew.

He swept into the office, greeting the headmaster with only a stiff inclining of his head and a cold gaze. He was angry at the man and he was intended to let him know.

"Ah, Severus." Albus smiled at him and for a moment his anger threatened to take the upper hand, threatened to cause him doing something irresponsible – like snapping the headmaster's neck … or trying to hex the blasted twinkle off his blue eyes … or – knowing Albus' next question – forcing the entire box of lemon drops down the old coot's throat so he would choke on them … he had quite a few ideas coming to the forefront of his mind.

And just as he had known –

"Lemon drop, Severus?"

He lifted his eyebrow at the headmaster, his dark eyes still gazing cold at his employer.

"Do I look like I would want to have one of your blasted sweets, headmaster, what I – as you should know by now if you are not one of those imbeciles I have the misfortune to teach – never did?" Severus drawled. He knew that his tone as well as his choice of words was quite inappropriate, but – well, he couldn't help it. He just _had_ to get it off his chest. And honestly, right now he didn't care.

"You are still angry with me, Severus." Albus quietly stated.

"What makes you think that my feelings towards you may have changed in the short time between breakfast and now, headmaster?" He asked, still standing, refusing to take a seat, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high. He was Severus Snape, for Merlin's sake, he had survived a terrible childhood, he had survived being a spy in a dangerous war, he had survived teaching dunderhead students in a dangerous subject for more than a decade, and he would be in the midst of the second wizarding war soon, again as a spy. He would not back down in front of Albus, never mind what great of a wizard the old man was.

"I had hoped, Severus." The old man sighed. "I simply had hoped."

"What is it you have … _summoned_ … me for, Albus?" The Potions Master asked, knowing well that Albus knew what reason for he had used the word _summoned_ instead of _called_, knowing well that the old man would feel hurt by his choice of words, but he still didn't care.

"Take a seat, Severus, please." Albus said, again extending his hand towards one of the chairs in front of the desk, but again Snape just remained standing.

"Your reason, Albus." He said. "I would like to go back to my brewing, even if the potion I have been working on is ruined now."

"I am sorry about that, Severus." Albus said. "I haven't known that you have been working on a potion."

"Of course not." Snape drawled. "You have not known that I am a Potions Master and I do have this post here by accident only. In truth you wanted to have a divination teacher."

Albus just sighed at his words.

"Can we come to the reason of my summoning now, Albus?" Snape asked, getting impatient. "Or shall I come back in three days when you are ready?"

"As you wish, Severus." Albus finally said, pouring two cups of tea, taking one and shoving the other across the desk towards Snape who simply ignored the cup. "Harry has been expelled." He then said.

Snape actually had to call up all of his occlumency shields to keep a straight and impassive face, just lifting his eyebrow at the information. How in Merlin's name had the brat managed that? What in Merlin's name had the brat done now? How in Merlin's name was he supposed to watch over the brat if he wasn't at Hogwarts? What in Merlin's name would the boy do now? And last but not least – as thousand more thoughts raced through his mind – what would Albus do about it?

"And whom exactly do I have to thank for this pleasant occurrence to happen, Albus?" He drawled.

"Umbridge." Albus answered. "Dolores Jane Umbridge, ministry undersecretary and special assistant to Cornelius Fudge."

"I will remember to thank her should I ever have the misfortune to meet that woman for managing what I have tried to achieve since four years now." Snape drawled while his mind still reeled, trying to find a solution to this blasted new situation. "And what, if I may ask, are you about to do to remedy the situation? I am sure you won't leave your golden boy uneducated."

"Well, seeing that Voldemort is back, and considering the fact that Umbridge has expelled Harry from Hogwarts, I will send him to the academy of arts in Canada." Albus replied. "There he will be away from all the dangers for once and he will have time to sort through his mind – as you implied he should. Not to mention that, even if it is a small academy only, it is one of the best in the world."

"And what, if I may ask, do _I_ have to do with this?" Snape drawled, his eyebrow lifted at the headmaster.

"I need you to watch over the boy there, Severus." Albus answered.

"You need – what?" Snape asked, his voice incredulous.

"I need you to watch over Harry there." Albus repeated. "I already talked to headmaster Acheron and he offers you the post as a Potions Master at his academy."

"I do thank you so much, Albus – but I decline." Snape drawled, his face a mask of fury. He already _had_ a post as a Potions Master and he already had his students, he had a house he was head of. He surely wouldn't start teaching at a small school in some godforsaken one-horse town in Canada. Not to mention that he would have a blissful time without Potter what he surely wasn't ready to give up.

"I am sorry to say, Severus, but you cannot decline." Albus simply said.

"And why ever not, headmaster?" He asked, his voice back to being cold.

"Because I already have accepted the offer in your name."

"And what, pray tell, headmaster, made you think that I would accept this post?"

"The fact that you promised to keep Harry safe." Albus explained, knowing well that he could get him there if nowhere else. "You know as well as I do, Severus, that the next wizarding war is upon us and you know as well as I do that this war will neither be as simple as has been the last one nor that it will stop at England's borders. Harry needs protection and I need you there to fulfill your promise there right now."

Snape stood there, wanting to stamp his feet and beat his fists. He wanted the luxury to throw a full-blown tantrum, but his sense of decorum wouldn't permit it, so he stood tall instead, and glowered as strongly at the headmaster as the headmaster was twinkling back at him. He finally leaned close to the headmaster, simply placing his hands on the desk.

"I will do as you ask of me, headmaster." He slowly said, his dark eyes never leaving the older wizard and his words were calm but dark. "But know that I only do it because of Lily and not because you asked me to and know that after this all is over I will take my leave. So you better start looking for a new permanent Potions Master or hope that the war continues for long, long years."

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**

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To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe  
**

_Snape and Harry both have to prepare leaving Hogwarts. Snape __is not looking forward to this._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this story and this chapter … thank you …


	2. leaving Hogwarts behind

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Story contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"I will do as you ask of me, headmaster." He slowly said, his dark eyes never leaving the older wizard and his words calm but dark. "But know that I only do it because of Lily and not because you asked me to and know that after this all is over I will take my leave. So you better start looking for a new permanent Potions Master or hope that the war continues for long, long years."_

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****two**

**Leaving Hogwarts behind**

For the fifth time in just as many days Severus Snape was on his way to the headmaster's office and with any luck it would be the last time. His anger at the older wizard had reached levels beating his anger at Potter senior or Black. Well – both had passed away now while Dumbledore still lived. So the old man simply would have to deal with his anger while the other two couldn't anymore.

He entered the office after Albus had called him in and he threw the door shut with a loud bang.

He noticed Albus looking at him with a disappointing look in his blasted and twinkling blue eyes. He noticed Potter standing near one of the windows, flinching at the sharp noise the door-slamming had caused. He noticed Fawks sitting on his perch, sharp eyes piercing him with a sad expression in them while the bird seemed to try giving comfort.

His eyes got calm for a moment before becoming hard again when falling back at the headmaster and then at Potter who greeted him with an inclining of his head. The boy's damn green eyes didn't hold the anger they had held throughout the past years anymore, he noticed. They were dull somehow, empty, as if something within the boy had died.

Snape eyed him with a dark look on his face, and Harry huffed inwardly. As if _that_ was something new. The man seemed to be about saying something, but then the Potions Master's eyes changed and his expression became his usual blank mask and his eyes seemed to be burning while looking at him with an intensity that was nearly startling, a fierce piercing look in them he couldn't understand. He fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt, squirming uncomfortably under the man's stare.

Snape eyed him for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes unreadable and Harry wished he could tell what he was thinking. Snape seemed to be looking right inside of him, but then, after a long moment, the man returned the greeting.

"Potter." He said quietly and his deep voice was strangely soothing.

Tension, Harry hadn't known he was carrying, seemed to run out of him. It wasn't until then that Harry realized he had been expecting a scathing remark and he also realized that he didn't want that. He had done a lot of thinking over the holidays. Voldemort, Cedric, Sirius and the Dursleys aside, Snape also had been on his thoughts, as strange as this might sound.

Finally Snape turned back to the headmaster and his eyes changed from calm and piercing to hard and angry again.

"I see you have spared me the trouble of getting Potter from his relatives." He drawled. "I do hope the boy is ready to leave. I have no wish to delay our unpleasant journey any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Yes, Harry is quite ready to leave." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling like mad. "I have explained the situation and Harry is quite ready to leave with you, aren't you, my dear boy?"

Harry looked over at him, inclining his head in an affirmation, just like he had inclined his head as a greeting towards him, Snape, before, but he gave no answer.

"Harry?" Albus asked, causing Snape to shake his head inwardly. The boy wanted to be left alone, and considering the events that had caused the mutt's death, it was quite understandable. Albus had done nothing to aid the boy during the holidays to help him dealing with all that had happened, the tournament, Diggory's death, the mutt's death and last but not least Moody, a teacher at Hogwarts, being Crouch, a Death Eater.

"Honestly, Professor, I don't care one way or another." Potter answered. He hadn't thought that the boy would answer at all, but he had. His voice however sounded just as hollow and as empty as were his eyes, a rough whisper, barely audible, as if he hadn't used his voice for a long time. Hadn't his relatives talked about all that had happened to him? Hadn't the boy's relatives tried to help him with all that had happened to him? Hadn't the boy talked to his relatives at all this summer?

What was just as alarming as the empty dead eyes and the hollow and flat voice however, were the boy's choice or words and he frowned. He knew Potter's behavioural patterns and standing calmly like a silent statue wasn't his normal reaction to emotional pain or suffering. Losing his temper, he could understand, denial or shouting as well, but not this silent resignation. Not from Potter.

Potter didn't resign. Potter didn't accept defeat. Potter kept on going, even if there was nowhere to go. Potter had always reminded him of one of those little muggle toys, those which you could wind up and it would move on and on and on, untiringly. Only that now the mechanism seemed broken or the spring seemed overstrained.

Well, normally the headmaster would be right in demanding an answer, normally he wouldn't want to go anywhere alone with Snape, but this wasn't normally and he just didn't care anymore, just as he had said. He hadn't even fought with the headmaster when he had told him that he was expelled that he would attend a small school in Canada and that Professor Snape would accompanying him. Why shouldn't he go with Snape? With any luck Snape would bring him to Voldemort here and now, now that the war was about to be back over them. Voldemort would kill him, would finally end his miserable existence.

He wasn't a fool, and so he knew that Voldemort neither would be gentle nor quick, but he _would_ kill him in the end and with any luck he would be able to take the bastard with him. He was broken anyway, fallen apart on so many edges and to a point where he wasn't even sure anymore where all the pieces were left now, where to find them and how to glue them back together. He was sure that it wouldn't even be possible anyway, that there were a few pieces which were lost forever, destroyed somehow.

"Well, then." Snape growled darkly. "If this is all, headmaster, then I would prefer it if we could leave finally. It is getting late and I wish to reach this godforsaken one-horse town before darkness. It is bad enough to have to go there in the first place as it is."

"I'm sorry." He heard a small whisper from Potter's direction, so soft he wasn't even sure the boy had uttered the words at all and he lifted his eyebrow at the teen. He must have imagined the words. Potter wouldn't apologize. And surely not to him.

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"Well, get a move on, Potter." Snape growled, striding along the path that led towards Hogsmead. "What are you waiting for? We do not have all day."

He had noticed that the brat walked slowly, but not because he was dawdling or sulking, but because he was limping. He had watched the boy in Albus' office out of the corner of his eyes, and he had noticed how pale the brat was, how tired he seemed and how weak, how exhausted – and how thin. It seemed that the brat hadn't eaten much during the holidays, nor had he slept much either as it seemed, probably mourning the mutt's death.

But honestly, the boy was just too thin, unhealthy thin, startling thin. The boy always had been thin, he knew, yes, but it was just scary _how_ thin he was right now. He already had slowed his pace down so the brat could keep up with him, but somehow the boy seemed too frail to walk a long distance in a steady pace. It was worrying, he had to admit, but he surely wouldn't show that to the brat. He knew – the last thing Potter right now needed and probably wanted, was pity. He simply would have to watch the brat closely and ensure that he would start eating and sleeping more, that he would regain strength.

Their train would leave at half past seven, in half an hour so to say, and they would reach Dubawnt Lake Hamleton tonight at nine o'clock. They would have to leave England after all. Travelling through England wouldn't be a problem and then travelling across the sea would take them only a few moments as it was some kind of apparition, until they reached Canada. But the journey _through _Canada and to Dubawnt Lake Hamleton would be a long and difficult one. The weather there, even in summer, was harsh and there was none to no civilization. Aside from the small – really small – wizarding town, there was a muggle weather station somewhere around the Dubawnt Lake, and there were a few storm-huts for shelter and a few muggle fishing huts, but otherwise there was absolutely nothing out there.

They would reach Mary's Harbour at a quarter to ten and their train westwards to Moosonee would leave Mary's Harbour at ten. From there on it would be a bit of a blurry travel.

They would reach Moosonee after nearly thousand miles somewhat around two pm, if all went well, and there they would have to change trains then. The Hudson Bay Train – which would wait there for them – would bring them north-westwards to Churchill, where they at six pm – if they were lucky – and after another nearly thousand miles – would have to change trains once more.

They would have to leave the regular Wizarding Rail-Network and the Bay then and travel on a side rail into the nothingness of Canada, another four hundred miles until they finally would reach Dubawnt Lake Hamleton at nine in the evening, a small wizarding settlement seated at the west side of the Dubawnt Lake with only a handful of muggle villagers and no civilization otherwise around the entire lake for hundreds and hundreds of miles. They really would be in the middle of nowhere.

However, whatever was there or wasn't there – Potter would be safe there.

They had reached Hogsmead and the train was already there, so Snape ushered the boy aboard and led him into a compartment at the end of the train. It was the last train that left Hogsmead oversees for this month and even though the train was nearly empty. They would have at least a peaceful journey. If Potter could keep silent for twelve hours, that was.

Harry was glad for finally being on the train. He finally could sit down and he could rest for a while. He didn't even mind falling asleep in front of Snape right now, may he hex him while he was asleep, he didn't really care. He was just too tired and he was in just too much pain.

Dumbledore had taken him from his relatives' house just two hours ago but he had been standing in the headmaster's office, refusing to take a seat – a mistake he soon had noticed. But then Snape had come in and he simply had not dared to move much from then on. And then the walk to Hogsmead, it had taken away more strength from him than he dared to admit.

Snape watched Potter nearly falling into the seat and he narrowed his eyes at the boy while he took his own seat across from the brat. He threw his cloak onto one of the empty seats, careful of the shrunken trunk in his pocket and placed the bag with the few things he might need during the journey at another empty seat before warding the door of the compartment. He wanted his peace and he ensured that he would get it.

For a brief moment he wondered where Potter had his bag – and a jacket for this matter, but he discarded the thought. He would remind him upon their arrival at Mary's Harbour. There he definitely would need one. It might be the end of August, but he knew that the weather up there was already cold. In a month or two winter would start and soon they would be living in a world of ice and snow only. Well, probably in the trunk Albus had shrunken for the boy.

The moment he turned to face Potter he again narrowed his eyes.

The boy was asleep – in a sitting position, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms crossed in front of his chest, nearly cradling himself, his head resting on the window to his side.

Well, considering how exhausted and tired the boy had seemed to be, and considering that he wanted to have a peaceful journey anyway, it might be for the best. So, shaking his head at the surely uncomfortable angle the boy was sitting in he waved his wand and the three seats changed into a comfortable bed with pillow and blanket. He gripped Potter's legs and pulling he got the brat into a horizontal position, careful so his head wouldn't hit the windowsill of the compartment. He even placed the blanket over the brat, not sure why he did this – tucking the brat in. It was Potter after all.

But then – since that faithful night two month ago he simply couldn't bring himself to hate the brat with the same passion than he had before. During that night he had seen a side on Potter that had reminded him so much at his Slytherins that his hate somehow had started to fade. During this night the arrogant brat had been gone and had been replaced by simply a desperate and hurt child that had broken down in his arms completely.

It had been the first time that he had touched the boy since he first had laid eyes on him four years ago, and back then he had noticed for the first time how thin and bony the boy really was. Back then he had noticed for the first time how small the boy really was, and back then he had noticed how desperate and hurt the boy really was, while quietly sobbing into his chest, while hiding from the world within his arms. And nothing else it had been than hiding from the world for once.

It had been the first time that he had noticed some strange things concerning the boy, some strange things that were far off his normal arrogant demeanour. Things that had worried him.

One had been the fact that Potter simply was too thin and too small. Another one had been the fact that Potter had cried and sobbed quietly. His sobs hadn't been the attention seeking and demanding wails of any normal child that simply needed comfort in a dire situation, but the quiet and nearly silent sobs of a child that was in unbearable grief but didn't know how to express his pain – or didn't dare doing so, he thought. And the next was the fact that the boy had started to quietly apologize. Unaware of his own words muttered in his grief he had apologized for killing Cederic and for killing Black, and unaware of his own words muttered in his pain he had begged for not being hurt, for not being punished, for not being beaten.

That somehow had been the last straw for Snape. The last straw he had been clinging to in his stubborn opinion that the brat was a spoiled prince, and this straw had snapped at exactly this moment while he had realized that maybe, _just maybe_, Potter's home life wasn't far off from the home lives from some of his Slytherins.

It had been this moment, while he had held the small Gryffindor, while the child had apologized, had pleaded and had promised to be good that he had seen something else in Potter. And afterwards he simply hadn't been able to build up the hate he had held towards the boy throughout all the years again. How could he, when the boy had reminded him so much at his Slytherins?

And now, seeing the boy so dangerously thin and so tired and exhausted, seeing the boy in those rags he might call clothes, and seeing the dead and empty look in the boy's eyes, on his face that was an unreadable mask, he again was reminded at the wounded and hurt child he had held in his arms back then.

Well, at least the boy didn't seem to be injured.

_'Aside from the limp.'_ A small voice in the back of his mind whispered.

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They had left Moosonee nearly four hours ago now and they would have to change trains soon, upon reaching Churchill, so he reached out to shake Potter awake. They had twenty minutes left, enough time for Potter to get awake so he wouldn't have to drag the boy along behind him. But a moment later he pulled back his hand startled when the boy shot upright with a short but piercing scream and he narrowed his eyes at the boy that looked around with wild and frightened eyes before his gaze fell onto him, Snape, and he quickly scrambled away from him, another startled or frightened scream nearly escaping his lips while watching him with a frightened look in his green eyes that just slowly changed into a relieved and then embarrassed one before his eyes became dull and lifeless again.

He watched the boy running a trembling hand over his face while he made a visible effort to calm his frantic breathing and he sat back in his seat to give the teen more space.

"We will reach Churchill where we will have to change trains in twenty minutes, Potter." He said, trying to keep his voice not only calm but free from curiosity as well. "I suggest you get out your trunk and change into a jacket. It might be August still, but it will be colder than it had been back in England. I guess we will have around ten degrees."

Potter just stared at him for a moment, as if considering if he should give an answer, but then he shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and averted his eyes before they got distant, not giving him an answer. He was just about to snap at the boy when he noticed that distant look in his eyes, on his face, and he again narrowed his eyes.

He hadn't noticed the boy having anything else aside from his baggy Jeans he wore, a t-shirt that was appalling and trainers that were worn and had holes – just as the rest of his clothing and a quick look at the boy's trainers showed him that he didn't even wear socks.

So, no, the boy probably didn't even have his trunk with him. But where was it? Had Dumbledore sent it ahead? Without thinking that the boy would need to change into a bit warmer clothing? And where was his wand? Where was his owl? Where were his books and other school things?

Gritting his teeth in pure frustration he took a piece of parchment and transfigured it into a pair of socks, reached them towards the brat. He waved his wand and repaired the trainers, changed the boy's appalling t-shirt into a pullover and then he transfigured another piece of parchment into a jacket. He worked wordlessly, wondering why in Merlin's name he did this.

Just two months ago he would have taunted Potter with his lack of appropriate clothing and just two months ago he would have taunted Potter with his poor appearance in general. Not so now. Now he simply remedied the situation.

"Well, follow me, Potter." He said when the brat finally had changed, had muttered something inaudible under his breath that strangely sounded like a _'thank you' _and then he led the boy out of the compartment, just in time when the train rolled into the Churchill station. They would have to go to platform seven 3/4 and he already could see the train that would bring them northwestwards, deeper into the wilderness of the Northwest Territories, towards the Dubawnt Lake and a small wizarding town named Dubawnt Lake Hamleton.

Leaving the train Harry shivered.

Snape had been right, it really was colder here than it had been back in England, and he really was grateful for the older wizard for giving him warmer clothes. He just wondered why Snape had done it.

Well, Snape was responsible for him now. Dumbledore had told him. Snape was his guardian now for the rest of the year until he would go back to the Dursleys. He shuddered at the thought. Not that Snape was his guardian, but that he would have to go back. With a sigh he followed Snape, more stumbling across the platform than walking. He still was tired, even though all the hours he had been sleeping away had been pure bliss, he still was tired.

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**

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To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_The arrival on a new school __- introductions and explanations._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	3. looking forwards to a new school

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house … or rather snow, as there will be a lot of it in this story

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Note:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note - _IMPORTANT_ :**

"normal speech."

_'thoughts.'_

_/translations from Cheyenne to English./_

One might forgive the strange use of the English language when being translated from Cheyenne, but I didn't wish to destroy the Cheyenne way of expressing things as I wanted to keep this language fluid upright, what it sounded like and what it might feel like. And yes, I who am learning a new language every now and then, I say that you **_can _**feel a language. So, please - don't skin me for it ...

**Warning:**

Story contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_Well, Snape was responsible for him now. Dumbledore had told him. Snape was his guardian now for the rest of the year until he would go back to the Dursleys. He shuddered at the thought. Not that Snape was his guardian, but that he would have to go back. With a sigh he followed Snape, more stumbling across the platform than walking. He still was tired, even though all the hours he had been sleeping away had been pure bliss, he still was tired._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****three**

**Looking forwards to a new school**

The sight before them when they left the train station was not as breathtaking as the sight of Hogwarts, true, but it was a sight to behold anyway. The place didn't look like a school at all, but rather like a small town. There were buildings in different shapes and forms, all similar somehow, looking like block houses, but different nevertheless. Several lanes and roads were leading along and between them and each one had a small garden and a tree in front of it, different trees in different kind of gardens.

But one larger building was standing apart from the smaller ones and this clearly was the main building of the school, so Snape went into the direction of this one, down what seemed to be the main road, along the smaller buildings while he allowed his thoughts to wander.

It really was cold here and he was glad that he had transfigured a jacket for Potter. He would have to remedy the boy's lack of clothes soon, he thought. As it seemed, the boy owned nothing.

First he had thought that maybe Albus had shrunken the boy's trunk, but soon he had learned that – no, the boy simply hadn't one.

He was not a friend of buying things when it wasn't necessary. He wasn't a poor man, surely not. His salary as a head of house and as a Potions Master was more than satisfactory and he didn't need much generally, so he had quite a small sum in his vault at Gringotts. But he was careful with his money nevertheless, and so he simply had asked the boy during their lunch where he had his trunk.

It had been quite a task getting Potter to eat something in the first place, he mused. He had led him into the lunch wagon where he had gotten them soup and toast, knowing that the boy probably wouldn't be able to stomach much more anyway. It hat taken him however several attempts and quite a lot of self-control so he wouldn't snap at the brat, until Potter finally had eaten the soup and he simply had not understood why in Merlin's name the brat had been so hesitant. He had been hungry, he was sure of that. He had _looked _hungry. And the way how thin he was indicated that he hadn't eaten much during the holidays. And nevertheless the boy had looked startled, unwilling, maybe just uncomfortable, but definitely frightened.

However, he had asked the boy where he had his trunk and his things, as he had wondered about it before. He however had gotten no answer from Potter. Not a verbal one at least.

But the boy had looked at him long enough so he could brush his mind for a short moment and he definitely had not liked what he had seen there. There had been a large and fat man, burning Potter's trunk, his books, his wand and several other things in what seemed to be a back yard and he quickly had retreated from the boy's mind, having had his answer. He hadn't wanted to remain too long in the boy's mind, not while Potter was so damn weak. He would keep it in mind however for later, and he would find out more later on.

After that he had led the boy to a compartment similar to the ones on the trains they had travelled before with, and just as before – the boy had fallen asleep as soon as he had been sitting on the comfortable seats. He simply had changed them into a bed – again, and he simply had tucked Potter in – again.

Sometimes during the journey he had wondered how in Merlin's name Potter had managed to sleep as much as he did, but then he had brushed the thought off. He had his freedom as long as Potter slept, and honestly, while sleeping he even had looked _harmless_, as if he weren't able to cause any trouble and if he hadn't known the boy, he would have _thought _him being harmless. Truth be told, Potter wasn't harmless however, and he knew it. Potter could be just as dangerous as some of Hagrid's blasted creatures.

The brat however had slept peacefully during the entire journey and he, Snape, had finished reading his book just in time to wake Potter to get off the train.

And now they were walking towards the main building of the school they would live in for the next ten months.

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He definitely felt rested for a change, but he nevertheless was still tired and he was glad for the moment he finally could retreat for the night, hopefully sleeping through. But for once he had slept well, and for once he had slept without nightmares, and for once he had slept longer than he had during all his holidays.

What he didn't understand however – was Snape.

The man had been _civil_. The man actually had been _more_ than civil.

Not that he complained, he _had_ thought a lot about the man and he _had_ started to see a different side on the man too, but nonetheless Snape was still – Snape. So, what was wrong with the man? Why was he so civil? Not only had Snape taken care about his clothes so he wouldn't freeze, but he also had given him something to eat too, and it had neither been cold nor old and stale. It had been a hot soup and it had been tasty – and so much! He hadn't been able to eat it all.

The most strange thing however had been – he wasn't sure about it – whenever he had woken up, he had been laying in a bed instead of the seats in the compartment, and there was only one explanation as to _how_ he had ended up – laying in a bed. Namely Snape had tucked him in. But Snape never would tuck him in. He was Harry Bloody Potter, The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Quite-Die, and Snape simply hated him, hated him with such a passion – he rather would throw him out of the compartment than tucking him in.

So – what had happened?

And another strange thing had been the moment when Snape had asked for his trunk, when he had looked at him. It had been strange, because for a moment he had been sure that Snape had been – however he had done that – in his mind, that he had _seen_ the things he had thought about at that moment, the memory of uncle Vernon burning his trunk and his school things.

He only could hope that he just had imagined it, because if Snape really had seen, he would die of embarrassment, he was sure of that.

Looking around while trying to keep up with the man he decided that he liked the town already. It was a small town only and there was nothing out of the ordinary, a few block houses, a few small shops, a pub and a café, nothing else, but as small as it was, it seemed nice and welcoming. Not that he would have much time to go to this town, as close to the school as it seemed to be. He had to learn. So many people had died now because of him, and now Voldemort was back, because of him too, and he simply had to learn as much as possible and as quickly as possible so he could defeat the bastard finally. And preferrably once and for all this time.

And honestly – he didn't know anyone anyway.

They entered the large building Snape had led him to and he was greeted with warmth and the dim and flickering light of torches and candles along the walls that were made of stone similar to Hogwarts, just darker somehow. The floor was made of dark wooden boards as was the ceiling. And just like at Hogwarts opposite the entrance doors there were stairs that led downstairs and upstairs, only they didn't move like the ones at Hogwarts.

A double winged door to their left opened and out came an old man in a dark brown cloak. The man had white hair just like Dumbledore, but he had no beard and his eyes were dark, not blue. His face however showed the same wisdom – here Harry snorted inwardly – as the old headmaster ones and he knew immediately, as friendly as this man seemed, he better didn't mess around with him.

Not that he intended to – he just noticed.

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"Master Severus." The man greeted, smiling at Snape while regarding him with a sharp look. "Master Acheron. Acheron Sieves. I am the headmaster and transfiguration teacher. Harry." He then greeted the teen that strolled along behind him, just as smiling, but just watching him as closely as he had done with him, Snape. "You are just in time for dinner. I'm sure you feel hungry and if you are not too tired from your journey, then I would suggest you simply join us." Well, at least this Acheron didn't own that infuriating twinkle one other particular headmaster owned.

"Good evening, Master Acheron." Snape greeted back. "And yes, dinner would be welcomed. I am sure Mister Potter can stay awake a bit longer, seeing that he has been sleeping throughout the entire journey."

The headmaster led them through the double winged door he just had come through, into the entrance hall, and they entered a hall that remembered strangely at the great hall at Hogwarts. Just that it wasn't as large and that – here too the walls were built of stone and lined with torches while the floor and the ceiling were built of dark wooden boards – it seemed darker somehow, gloomier, than the old castle in Scotland had been.

And there was no head table. There were some smaller tables scattered around the room, and each of those tables, he thought, could hold up to ten people. He counted seven of those tables. Well – he had known that it was a small school only.

"May I introduce – Master Severus, Potions Master and a head of house since over a decade now and Harry, fifth year student." The headmaster said, shooing them towards one of the tables that already held several adults, the teachers, Snape thought.

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Sharp eyes watched the two visitors entering the dining hall and black eyes were narrowed at them, noticing the boy's skinny appearance, the man's proud characteristic, the child's scared look hidden behind a mask and the adult's dark gazes wandering around the hall.

'_ka'êškóne__, é__tóhkona'he naa éháomóhtahe. ésáamésehehe naa__ ésáanaóotséhe.'_ _/the child, he is skinny and he is sick. He's not eating and he is not sleeping./_ He thought startled, wondering why, wondering what might have happened to the child before his eyes wandered towards the man that accompanied the boy.

'_hetane, étóvahe naa éháesenove, évovóhponahe.' /the man, he's stubborn and he has a temper, he's strict./ _He thought, noticing that – just as the child – the man too displayed a mask and he wondered what the man was hiding. Well, he would find out with time. Those two, the teacher and the student, they would stay at least for the upcoming school year. He would have enough time to learn more about them. Yet – he had to admit that he was worried and startled over the child's appearance.

He wasn't used to children so sick. Harsh and strict adults, he often had been around harsh and stubborn adults. In fact, his own father had been harsh and strict – and stubborn. But a child looking so thin and ill, he was not used to. In the most tribes children were cared well for, were cherished and kept safe and healthy. An Indian child was never beaten and surely never starved. It got attention from the entire tribe, it was a child of the entire tribe.

This child however, it definitely had been starved, had been neglected.

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"Master Cheng, Charms." A man, definitely from China, stood up, bowed slightly and introduced himself. "Nice to meet you."

"Dmitri." The man beside Cheng growled darkly and Snape lifted his eyebrow. This one would rival his reputation, as it seemed. "Defence." He growled the second word, keeping his seat and glowering darkly. Snape nodded at him as he had done with Cheng before while he took one of the remaining seats.

"Master Ragnar." The next one said. He looked quite strange. Long blond hair was braided to a ponytail and he wore a cloak that reminded him rather at a skin of some kind than at a cloak in general. For a moment he thought just the sword was missing and the man would make an acceptable Viking. "Herbology, and yes, I am from Norway, love mead and I actually use my sword from time to time if I find a rival talented enough. You are not interested, Master Severus, are you?"

"I prefer keeping my limbs, Master Ragnar." Snape answered, not sure if he liked the man that seemed to be able to read his thoughts. He should have ensured that his occlumency shields were up the moment he entered. He should have known that there might be someone able to use legillimens. But then – no, Ragnar hadn't used legillimens, he would have known.

"Master Bassam, ancient runes." Another old wizard, maybe as old as the headmaster, Master Acheron, was. He too had dark eyes and white hair. Just as the headmaster, and he too had an oriental touch on his face.

"Master Traianos" teaching astronomy was the next one and Snape was sure that he was Greek. Well, that fit, a Greek teaching astronomy. He would be able to teach more than just the positions of the stars.

"Master Juan. Hi there, nice to meet you." The next one greeted them, waving happily at them and Snape had to suppress the urge to sigh in frustration. He was sure that Juan would annoy him to no end throughout the year – as much as he tried, there always was at least _one_ colleague that annoyed him. "I teach care of magical creatures." Juan continued and Snape now had to suppress the urge to laugh.

Well, he simply was used at Hagrid teaching care of magical creatures. And Hagrid, as a half giant, was simply rather large. This one here, Juan, he seemed very small, even for an adult wizard. Not quite as small as Flitwick had been, but he definitely was the smallest in the gathering here - and the youngest, it seemed.

He noticed that Potter, who had taken a hesitant seat beside him, had a small smile on his lips as well – for a second or two at least, just before his face went blank again. Not quickly enough however that he hadn't noticed the sad and longing gaze in his eyes. As it seemed the brat missed Hogwarts already.

'_Just wonderful!'_ He thought. _'We are here since an hour and the brat already misses Hogwarts and the half-giant. How will he react in half a year?'_

"Master Kimya." Another one introduced himself and Snape was sure that Potter already had forgotten the name of the first teacher. This one was a black one. "I teach either history of magic or arithmancy, depending on what will be left. I don't prefer one of those two, I like them likewise."

"Wohehiv." The last one finally said and Snape lowered his head to one side, narrowing his eyes at the man that clearly was an Indian. It wasn't that fact that made him wonder. It was rather the fact that he hadn't introduced himself as a Master like the others had, like he had been introduced by the headmaster. And then there was the man's voice, it was calm and soothing.

"Let me guess, Wohehiv, you are the healer." Snape said, lifting his eyebrow.

"Actually, yes, I am." The wizard laughed, a rough and throaty laugh, but a pleasant one nevertheless, a laugh that reached the man's dark eyes.

"In this case, I do feel the need to warn you." Snape drawled. "You will lose half of your stocks of potions this year to one student alone as Mr. Potter here does tend to live in the infirmary rather than in his own dormitory. You better keep a bed with his name on it ready at all the time."

Wohehiv lowered his head to one side, just as Snape had done a moment before and he eyed the boy for a moment, his sharp eyes easily noticing the tired and exhausted condition as well as the starved and lost appearance. Neglect was the first word that came to his mind, and his gaze darkened for a moment, abused was the second one. His gaze went over to Master Snape for another moment, noticing that this one too looked worn and tired, troubled. Yet – the Potions Master had a sneer on his face and he knew immediately that the man didn't like this boy.

'_I would like to have him there right now__ already, the boy.'_ He thought_. 'In the healing wing. But well, I can't do anything without his consent.'_

"Is that so?" He asked the boy smiling – yet, he didn't get an answer, not even a nod or a headshake. The boy just looked up at him for a moment before lowering his eyes again.

'_Yes, definitely abused too.'_ He thought. And yes – he surely would have the child in his care at some point or another, he knew.

"Well, then it is good that we have a gifted Potions Master here for the year." He addressed Snape. "I am sure that you will be able to help restocking the healing wing."

"Of course." Snape drawled. "I am used to it after all – since Potter is attending school."

"Well, Master Manuel hasn't arrived yet." Acheron said. "So right now you may choose between potions, history of magic and arithmancy to teach. I assume you will claim potions as yours, Master Severus?"

"Actually – no. If I have a choice, then I rather would chose history of magic." Snape answered. "I will be able to brew potions here anyway during my stay and I will be able to teach potions again soon enough and the change of subject will be welcomed if that is amenable with you, headmaster."

"Of course it is." The old man answered and with a flick of his hand a timetable appeared in front of him which he reached towards Snape who took a look at it curiously.

Well, one thing had been a good one, concerning his choice of subject – Potter had shown a reaction for once, a reaction that wasn't empty and lost at least. The brat had lifted his face towards him, Snape, and he had looked startled, confused and questioningly, nearly shocked, he thought and he nearly grinned inwardly at that. The boy surely had expected everything than _that_.

"Well, Harry, you of course will have to attend all our regular classes such as transfiguration, charms, defence against the dark arts, potions, arithmancy, herbology, care of magical creatures, history of magic, ancient runes and astronomy." The headmaster addressed the boy, explaining the system of the school. "And each subject will be taught by one of the head of houses, the deputy headmaster and me. But you will have to choose one additional class too, an art class, which will be your house then. All those different houses are holding between five and ten students. We have a drawing class, for example. They are – at the present time – seven students and an apprentice. Those students live with their head of house which is their teacher as well in the house of pencillers."

Well, if he had waited for an answer, then he had waited in vain. The boy only nodded his head at him before lowering his eyes again.

"Well, there is the drawing class, the music class, the theatre class, the literature class, the craftsmanship class, the language class and the science class. Each class contains five to ten students and they are more like family than teacher-student related. You will have to choose which class you wish to attend within the next three days, Harry, but be careful. Just as you had your house at Hogwarts, we too have our houses that will be your family. Just that our houses are smaller and related to the subject you choose."

Again the boy only nodded at him. They were sitting here together since nearly an hour now and the boy had yet to speak. He surely wasn't a mute, Dumbledore surely would have told him if he were. Well, maybe he just was shy. But then – this was Harry Potter, and even if they lived in the middle of nowhere, he had heard this boy's name. So – wasn't he supposed to be a bit less shy? Or maybe he wasn't so fond of all the attention he got in his home country?

Maybe the boy was just tired, they had a long journey behind them after all. But then – Master Severus had said the boy had slept during the entire journey.

"Well, until you have chosen your houses, I simply will lead you to the guest chambers. They are in the dungeons, I do hope you won't mind. From the start of term on, when you have chosen your houses you wish to attend - or to teach - you then of course will have to move to them where you will live for the year of course."

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Harry looked around the dinner hall when they left, the entrance hall, and the hallways down the entrance hall they had passed with tired eyes but curiously nevertheless, seemingly trying to take in every detail as quickly as possible while he at the same time tried to walk as steadily as possible.

What appeared to the other teachers to be a child looking at the fancy artwork and pictures, was in fact a child who was studying every single detail of the building in order to assess any threats and map out several escape routes, should the need occur and Severus Snape recognized it for what it was, wondering why he never before had noticed such behaviour from the boy. He would have to have an extra eye on the brat.

"The students will have breakfast in their houses with their head of house, while lunch and dinner we expect them to have here, in the main building where the classes are held, in the dining hall." Acheron explained while he led the two visitors from Hogwarts to the guest chambers. "On the weekends however the students can have their meals in their houses completely. The classes, aside from the art classes, are all held here. I am sure, Harry, that you soon will learn where to find all the classrooms."

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**

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To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_How to choose a house if you don't know anything?_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	4. chosing a house

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house … or rather snow, as there will be a lot of it in this story

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Note:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I also am happy to tell you that - if you are interested - then you might be able to visit my blog and my ff-readers group where you might either just look at some pictures I've created to my stories here or to give comments and I hope that you will enjoy both sites which I will introduce to you on my profile as here I won't be able to insert a link …

**Warning:**

Story contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"The houses can have breakfast in their house, while lunch and dinner we expect them to have here, in the main building where the classes are held, in the dining hall." Acheron explained while he led the two visitors from Hogwarts to the guest chambers. "On the weekends however the students can have their meals in their houses too. The classes, aside from the art classes, are all held here. I am sure, __Harry, that you soon will learn where to find all the classrooms."_

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****four**

**Choosing a house**

"Well, Master Severus, We might expect the best of you of course, but I am sure you will find your salary to your satisfaction in return to your efforts. Your previous headmaster, Master Albus, thinks highly of you while we heard that your students don't really like you – aside from those in your house."

He had known that this would come up, but honestly, he didn't mind. He knew that he was a hard taskmaster and he knew that he wasn't liked. But he also knew that he was the best. His Slytherins had, together with the Ravenclaws, not only the best marks at Hogwarts after all, but the best marks compared with other schools as well and they behaved towards the teachers better than the other houses. Aside from the fact that he always had kept them as safe as possible, never mind his sarcasm and general behaviour towards the students. In other words – never mind if he was liked, he knew that he was a capable teacher.

For a moment he even was angry at Dumbledore again for sending him into this damn, blasted and godforsaken middle of nowhere, one-horse town, or whatever you wanted to call this place here. He wasn't able to keep his Slytherins safe while he was here. He should be at Hogwarts to look after his house. They would arrive in three days and he just _knew_ that some of them would arrive injured – again, just as each and every year.

"I do not exist for the students to like me." Snape simply answered. "I simply have to teach them and they simply have to learn, nothing more and nothing less. I keep them safe and sane and I am present for them to talk to if necessary. I however refuse to go out of my way just to please the students. They simply will have to deal with me."

He didn't particularly enjoy teaching. Maybe a few of the brighter students who actually had a talent for potions, but most of the children had no appreciation for the subtle art that was his passion and no desire to learn it. They endured Snape and he endured them.

Becoming a professor had not been his life's ambition, _most definitely_ _not_. It had been a necessity, ever since he had left Voldemort and had gone to Albus as a spy.

"I didn't mean it as a criticism, Master Severus." Acheron said.

His new teacher was a strange man, he had noticed. On one hand he knew exactly what he wanted and he ensured he would _get_ what he wanted. But on the other hand, this man had a strangely low self-esteem. He of course had gathered information about Severus Snape, as well as about Harry Potter, before he had accepted them on his school and so he knew that Snape was the best in his field, that as a teacher he was ready to die for his students if necessary, and that was more than some other teachers were ready for. But he also knew that the man had been a Death Eater.

From Dumbledore he however had learned that Snape was rather a spy for the light than a Death Eater. So – he had accepted. He wouldn't have done so otherwise.

And Harry Potter?

The boy had average marks generally, while his marks in Defence against the dark arts, transfiguration and charms were the highest possible. Wand-work, he thought for a moment. He however had learned about the boy going through the triwizard tournament last year, and that meant something. Considering the quiet and shy behaviour, the tired and exhausted appearance and the fact that the boy seemed starved to a point where he should be in a hospital however – not to mention that he seemed to be afraid of his own shadow, even if he hid it well – well, it wasn't a student he would have allowed on his school had Dumbledore not asked for this.

So – all in all, he would have to have an eye on those two. Sometimes looks could be deceiving.

"We are a small academy only, but we are the best nevertheless. Only seventy students are allowed each year at this academy here at the most, and a house can hold no more than ten students, included the apprentice. You will be absolutely responsible for those ten students, for their education and for their well being – physically as well as mentally. From what I heard, you have been the head of a house since years and so I take it that you will be able doing so. Which house would you like to overtake, Master Snape?" He asked.

Severus had thought about this question already, and there actually were two fields he would like to take over. The first one was the drawing class. Rarely people thought about it, but there were other subjects aside from potions he was interested in and drawing was one of them. The problem was, Potter surely would choose this particular subject. He had seen the brat drawing in his class, sketches only, but whether he liked it or not, he had to admit that the boy had talent.

So – well, this school held a music class too.

He would have liked the literature class, but he knew for sure that it was already taken, as was the language class and the science class. Craftsmanship and theatre, he simply wasn't interested in. So – music was it then.

"I am sure Albus would be shocked about my decision, but I choose the music class, if this is amenable with you, Master Acheron."

"You will be here for an entire year, Master Severus." Acheron smiled at him. "Why don't you just call me Acheron? There is no need for formality between us teachers. Each of us, after all, is sitting in the same rowboat. We have a school full of children and teenagers that soon will fill these halls and drive us crazy."

"True words, Acheron." Snape inclined his head. "Severus will do in this case, headmaster."

The old man's office was far from what he was used to from Dumbledore's office. It wasn't circular, for once, it wasn't filled with rubbish and such things either, but lined with book shelves on three walls. The walls themselves were made of the same stony walls and the floor and ceiling was made of the same dark wooden boards as was the rest of the building.

The other buildings here, well, they had been to the town two days ago and Snape had learned that the nearest buildings actually were the houses for the students. There was a house for the music class also. So he would have to live with up to nine students and an apprentice in one of those buildings where each student had a room by himself.

There had been other buildings as well. For example there was the Dubawnt Lake Hamleton clothing store, an apothecary, a shop that sold all different things they would need for all the art classes, a bakery and a butcher. There was a book shop, a coffee shop, and a tavern too. And of course the train station.

He would take Potter to the town tomorrow. The boy definitely needed clothes before school started and the headmaster had given his consent that he could leave with the brat for a few hours. Not that he had thought Acheron wouldn't, Potter was his charge after all, but he had informed the headmaster nevertheless.

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Harry kept his eyes glued to the ground as he traipsed after the dark form before him, only looking up occasionally to avoid walking into anything. He still felt terribly weak and still his legs shook with each step, as though he had been afflicted with the cruciatus for too long, what he quite had, he thought dryly. More than two month ago, but well, he had. He briefly wondered if everyone who had been subjected to the cruciatus felt the same, but then he dismissed the thought. It wasn't important. It simply was as it was.

Gripping the banister tightly, he carefully descended the staircase on his way to the dining hall.

It wasn't the first time that Snape had had to get him from the library for meals because he simply had forgotten. He was so used to being hungry, he didn't really realize it anymore as hunger and he didn't really realize anymore that with food he would be able to remedy the pain in his stomach. He also was so used to _not_ eating that he simply _forgot_ mealtimes. However, again Snape had had to get him this evening, but again he didn't scold him for it. There were no sarcastic comments, no scolding remarks and no anything else snape-ish.

Not that he complained, it just was strange, Snape without his snarky and sarcastic comments – simply wasn't Snape. Not the Snape he knew and was used to anyway.

The moment Severus and the boy entered the dining hall Wohehiv looked up and he lowered his head to one side while he watched the boy close – yet again. He had learned quite a few things about him and he wondered what exactly might have happened to him to make him the way he was.

_'náóétsétáno, ka'êškóne, énóhne'kahe naa éoóonêšeöhtse.'_ _/I'm worried, the child, he limps and he is in pain./ _The young Cheyenne thought while he watched the boy moving slowly. Never mind while walking or while sitting at the table, each movement seemed to be carried out carefully, as if he knew exactly _how_ to move to cause as little pain as possible, as if he knew exactly _how_ to move to save as much energy as possible. Alone _that_ was an already extremely remarkable feat for one so young. But the mask he displayed while struggling throughout his day was just the more remarkable. He was sure that aside from him, Acheron and Severus no other teacher had noticed anything strange with the boy.

And _that _Severus knew something, he was sure of that. Severus might be a Potions Master and a head of a house only, but first – as a Potions Master you had to go through a medical training to become a healer first and second - that man simply had something, something he couldn't name but that made him respect the man. Severus had sharp eyes that seemed to take in every single detail, never mind how small that detail was and then he seemed to store it somewhere in his mind for later examination until he could put all the pieces of the puzzle he was solving together.

"Good evening, Severus." He greeted the other teacher and the always so severe man inclined his head towards him, his eyes going gentle for a moment before this one too had his mask back in place.

However, it was more than just intelligence and keen perception the man radiated. It was power and strength pure, a power and strength that somehow even startled him, mixed with a determination and loyalty. This man would die for the ones he protected without thinking about the consequences, he was sure about that. He would try to avoid dying, of course, but if necessary, then he would die to protect the ones he cared about without hesitation.

'_nánôhtovetano__, épéoto, oha évovóhnêhešeho.' __/I'm wondering, he dislikes him, but he is taking care of him./_ He thought, knowing that he was right. He almost could _feel _the animosity the man radiated when looking at the boy. And nevertheless there was more, there was something that had changed, or was about to change. He didn't know what exactly it was, but he knew that it _was_, that something changed. Something was happening between those two and he could witness it.

His eyes wandered back to the boy that had taken his usual place beside Severus, opposite of him, Wohehiv.

_'__hetanéka'êškóne__, ée'hóho, é__héhpôhetäno__ naa__ é__vonëše. __éhéne'ëna__, __hetane__.' /the boy, he is afraid of him, he's scared and he's lost. He knows it, the man./ _Yes, the man definitely knew it. He could see that Severus was trying his best to not snap at the child, to not startle him and to not frighten him.

Was the boy one of those Severus cared about? Somehow he was sure that the man did. But on the other hand, he could tell that there still was some animosity between the two of them and that this animosity had quite a history. Well, Severus had been the boy's teacher since four years now after all.

"Good evening, Hahkethomemah." He greeted the boy, blinking for a moment at his own choice of words.

It wasn't that he often gave the children Cheyenne names, and surely not so soon after meeting them for the first time. But well, he just had learned that the boy actually was fifteen years old now. He had been so sure that he was a lower grade student, eleven or twelve maybe, but surely not older. But the boy was. He was fifteen.

And so – well, it fit, the boy was small for his age, really small, much too small.

The boy looked up at him with a confused, questioning gaze in his green eyes before simply inclining his head just as Severus had done. What was it with those two, barely speaking and always on their guard?

Well, England had been subjected to several wizarding wars, the recent ones caused by Grindelwald and then Voldemort, and the last one had been disastrous while the next one was just upon them since rumours told that Voldemort was coming back, and he was sure that at least the boy, if not both of them, had a role to play in not only this previous war but in the upcoming war as well. He really didn't envy them.

"It is a Cheyenne word and means little robe." He explained, smiling at the boy. For a moment he feared he might have made a mistake, that maybe the boy would take it the wrong way, being called that name, but then he saw the ghost of a smile on the boy's face. For a second only and a ghost of a smile only, but it had been there.

Well, maybe it hadn't been a mistake, he thought. Maybe he had just managed to do with what every other one had failed the boy, namely acknowledging him as the child he was, allowing him to acknowledge himself as the child he was. Maybe if he showed the boy that he was a child, that he wasn't responsible for the entire world, that he was allowed to be weak and to show weakness, maybe then he could get him out of his masonry he so carefully had build up around himself.

"I have received your form, Harry." Acheron then said. "And I have already organized your room in your new house. Your timetable will show three different double lessons each day in your regular subjects of course, but your chosen art class will be a double lesson daily throughout the week and on Saturdays. Saturday afternoons and Sundays are free of course."

Harry nodded at the headmaster.

He had thought a lot about those art classes, and honestly, he had chosen his class not in regard of his preference, but regarding the fact that Snape would take every class but the music class. So he wouldn't have the man as his head of house if he chose that one.

He didn't know if this was a good thing or not, Snape _had_ been more civil lately and he _had_ made an effort to not snap at him or to hurt him with his vile remarks after all. But Snape was Snape and Snape still remained Snape. He was sure that the man would change back the moment school started. He would snap at him, he would hurt him with each sarcastic comment that came to his mind, he would blame him for everything and he would tell on his father, accuse him, Harry, of being lazy, stupid, arrogant and insolent.

So – in the end he had thought better not risking anything. Snape would choose the science class, the literature class, or the language class surely, maybe even the drawing class. And well, even the craftsmanship class would be a possibility. But surely he neither would take over the theatre class nor the music class.

Well, and while he liked drawing sometimes, he never would take this class anyway. He simply didn't like drawing all the time, just from time to time, and he surely wouldn't be able to draw everything. He liked to do sketches, sometimes, but that was all - aside from the little fact that Snape just _might_ be taking over this class.

And the theatre class? Well, he would have to move too much in this class. He of course would be able to play his act, he knew. He was playing an act ever since he had learned that his uncle would beat him just the more if he found out that he told someone that he was beaten at home, or if someone found out anything because he didn't hide his pain well enough. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he was in enough pain already as it was and moving around too much or too quickly or in too unexpected movements just made it worse.

So – no, thank you. It would be the music class then. And well, once his cousin had gotten a guitar, and being too stupid to tune the instrument, Dudley simply had thrown it away, whereupon he had taken it. He had known that he had to be very careful, as a guitar could make a lot of noise – one of the reasons he was sure that Snape wouldn't overtake the music class, Snape simply hated noise as much as his uncle did – and that he only could try playing, or could practice playing later on, after he had figured out how it worked, when his relatives weren't at home.

"Well, Potter." Snape beside him addressed him and he looked over at the man. "Even if I do not teach potions this year, as your guardian here during your stay, and as a Potions Master, I expect you to give your best efforts in this subject though."

Again there hadn't been a scathing word in Snape's remark and again Harry found himself being glad for it. He simply nodded.

He would give his best, and he would give his best even if Snape taught the subject. He knew that he simply had to learn all that were to learn, what had been the reason as to why he had spend all his time since they had arrived here in the library, reading book after book and studying even if there was no one around who told him to study, even if school hadn't started yet. He had to be prepared so he could defeat Voldemort as soon as possible – and once and for all this time.

Snape again noticed that the boy only nodded at him. Just as he had only nodded at the headmaster earlier and just as he had only inclined his head towards Wohehiv in ways of greeting. They were here since three days now and the boy yet had to speak. He knew that he could. Dumbledore had demanded an answer from him, back in his office, where he had asked Potter if he was ready to leave Hogwarts with him, Snape, and the boy back then had spoken to the headmaster, even if his voice had been startling hollow and rough, indicating that he had not used it in a long time. But he _had_, and so he knew that the boy _could_ speak, even if he hadn't done so since.

He also knew however, that it wasn't insolence from the brat that he didn't. Something was just wrong with the boy and slowly but surely he actually got worried about him. The boy still seemed tired, he still seemed to be in pain and he still seemed exhausted. Not to mention that the boy really was not only too thin but too small also and he wondered why he had never seen it before.

Little robe indeed, he thought.

Well, he also had noticed the way the boy moved and he knew what it meant. He also had noticed the boy's hands shaking, his limbs twitching from time to time and his mask slipping whenever that happened. He just didn't understand it. The brat actually showed signs of the cruciatus, of nerve damage done by that blasted curse, but he hadn't been subjected to it. He didn't understand what could have caused those signs Potter displayed. And he also knew that if he asked the boy directly, then he only would get either no answer at all or a denial to anything he asked, never mind what.

He however knew that the boy _would_ give his best efforts. Not only had he had to get the boy from the library he seemed to have claimed as his new home so he would at least eat and sleep _sometimes_, but he also noticed a strange determination radiating off the boy. Potter seemed to be desperately determined to learn as much as possible, whatever had caused this change in the brat.

Not that he complained, honestly, if the boy finally wanted to learn, then this was alright with him, then he even would be ready to help the boy in his studies never mind what. He simply didn't understand it, and he simply was worried because of the fact that Potter didn't allow himself to recover from whatever he _had_ to recover from in the first place. The brat hadn't even left the building since they had arrived, something that wasn't healthy for a fifteen year old boy and Snape knew it.

Well, where he'd had to get Potter to learn anything at all during the past four years, he now seemed to have to get him to take a rest if needed. Didn't the blasted boy know how to strike a balance between learning and free time? It was unhealthy what the boy did right now and as his guardian he would have to step in at one point or another.

And if he was at it, he thought, he would try to find out more about the boy's unhealthy condition he was in, in the first place too. Maybe he could ask Wohehiv for help. He didn't know the man as well as he knew Poppy, but he hoped that the man would be as discrete and as professional as Poppy had been. With Poppy he always could have counted on her help with the abused children in his house. She always had known what to do and when to retreat and allowing him to take over the battlefield.

Whatever, he knew he just had to be very carefully with whatever his next course of actions would be concerning Potter and his poor healthy condition he was in. Just like he always was with his Slytherins, so – nothing new here.

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**

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To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_Clothes, books and potions__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would appreciate it if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	5. clothing and books

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_He didn't know the man as well as he knew Poppy, but he hoped that the man would be as discrete and as professional as Poppy had been. With Poppy he always could have counted on her help with the abused children in his house. She always had known what to do and when to retreat and allowing him to take over the battlefield._

_Whatever, he knew he just had to be very carefully, whatever his next course of actions would be concerning Potter and his poor healthy condition he was in. Just like he always was with his Slytherins, nothing new here._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****five**

**C****lothing and books**

He watched the boy more closely out of the corner of his eyes now than he had before. Potter was ready to drop and even his mask had started to crumble, starting to show tiredness, exhaustion, fear and pain. The tiredness he could understand, as well as the exhaustion. They had been on their way for four hours now at least and Potter really had had troubles choosing anything the boy needed, as if it were the first time the brat had been shopping.

'_What might be just the case.'_ A small voice in the back of his mind whispered.

But what he didn't understand was the fear and the pain that practically radiated off the boy.

Well, partly he did. The boy had been in pain since he had met him in Dumbledore's office four days ago, even if he back then had not recognized it as what it was. Well, maybe he hadn't wanted to recognize it. But the boy had hidden it well. He wasn't able doing so any longer, as it seemed. But what in Merlin's name had caused that amount of pain the boy seemed to be in? So that his mask started to slip? He hadn't noticed any injuries, and Merlin, he had looked. He hadn't noticed a glamour either, something he always checked as he knew his Slytherins using them quite often to hide their injuries.

The boy still limped, but he had asked him and Potter just had shrugged it off in a way as if to say that it was something that had happened long ago. But he didn't remember the boy limping last year. And aside from the limp, he had noticed absolutely nothing that could have caused him such an amount of pain that his mask he always had so firmly in place started to slip now. And he now _knew_ that Potter _had_ a mask firmly in place. He was an actor, and a good one, just as his Slytherins were.

And then there was the fear he also didn't quite understand. What caused the boy to be so frightened that he flinched every so often? That he looked around with startled and frightened eyes as if he expected Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself jumping him from a dark corner or an alleyway? That he acted like a spooked horse since they had left the school and went into the town, if one could call it that? That he had not been able to concentrate on choosing the clothes and other items he needed?

**Flashback**

_They had entered the __Dubawnt Lake Hamleton_ _clothing shop already five minutes ago and still Potter hadn't chosen anything, hadn't even touched anything, just looked at the shelves with clothes as if he were frightened of them. In fact, the moment they had entered the shop and he, Snape, had waved the sales clerk off, Potter had stopped mid step and his eyes had become as large as saucers while he actually had gasped in shock for a moment. The brat even had been about to turn and run off the shop, had he not been standing behind him, blocking his way and he had wondered why._

_And still – the brat hadn't chosen anything, hadn't even touched anything__, only stood there. looking around helplessly._

_"The clothes won't come to you by themselves, Potter." He said, immediately regretting his tone upon seeing the boy flinching. "You will have to pick some of them."_

_There was a pause during which the brat looked at him, at the clothes, and then back at him before lowering his head. Then –_

_"Why?" The boy whispered, his voice the same quiet hollow and rough whisper it had been back in Dumbledore's office._

_"Because they have no charm on them to fly." He said, trying to lighten the situation but noticing that he failed as the boy just looked at him for a split second before lowering his gaze back to the floor. But well – at least the boy had said something. That was more than he had expected and right now he was ready to take every little thing when it came to Potter, to this __particular Potter at least._

_"Because your clothes are atrocious, not to mention that you have none to no clothes at all." He therefore explained. "You are in need of clothes – and other things I might add – and as your guardian it is my place to provide you with what you need."_

**End flashback**

Well, if he had thought that it would have gone easier after that, he had been mistaken. The boy still had not touched anything, had not picked anything, and he had not chosen anything. Nothing at all. He soon had noticed that the boy simply hadn't known how to do so, that maybe – just maybe, the brat hadn't been in a shop before, that maybe the baggy clothes he was wearing wasn't his choice at all, and that he just felt helpless and overstrained with the situation.

With a strange feeling of protection he hadn't been able to explain, he had picked some clothes for the child then, Jeans, shirts, t-shirts and underclothes. A few sweatshirts, boots and a jacket, knowing that it soon would get colder and the boy would need warmer clothes. He had chosen dark but different colours and the boy had accepted each of them without complaint, only looking embarrassed and startled, confused, as if he didn't understand why Snape would buy clothes for him. Well, he probably _was_ confused, because there probably had been no one before who had bought him clothes, and now he – Snape of all people – did so.

A thought that – as strange as it seemed to him – made him angry. Potter might be Potter, and Potter might be …

Well, he better didn't continue this line of thoughts. Potter wasn't arrogant. He only had displayed a mask for self protection, nothing else than his Slytherin did. And Potter wasn't spoiled either, he had learned that just recently. The boy was far from spoiled, the boy had been neglected, probably throughout all the years he had lived with those damn muggles. And honestly, if he could, then he would pay a visit to them, just to teach them a lesson in pain.

But even if his view of Potter _hadn't_ changed – every child deserved to have clothes that fit, clothes that kept them warm during the cold months and clothes he wouldn't be laughed at because of them. No child deserved to be neglected in such a way as Potter had been. Or even starved. Never mind of food or of affection.

Alone the trip to the book shop had told him enough. The boy had picked up what he would have been in need of for school, a pack of parchment, a simple quill and a bottle of ink, nothing else and he, Snape had shaken his head.

**Flashback**

_"Pray tell, Mr. Potter, how will you carry your school things around? In a box?" He asked, eyeing the utensils in the boy's arms. _

_"I don't have any money." The boy answered, whispered, roughly and not looking at him. He nevertheless could see the brat's cheeks colouring with embarrassment and he sighed._

_"If I remember correctly, then I have informed you not half an hour ago that as your guardian it is my place to provide you with what you need, Mr. Potter. And surely you cannot carry your things in your arms around school. You will need a book bag."_

_"I'll manage." The blasted brat whispered, still looking at his worn trainers. _

_"And I say you will need a book bag." Snape growled. "I won't have you running through school with a box in your arms. And take a few more quills while you are at it. Surely you won't get through school with only one quill. A pencil or two and an eraser will be advisable too and I expect you to get a ruler and a writing case as well."_

_The brat had looked startled and then defeated, but then he had obeyed and had gotten the missing items before meeting him in the book section again. _

_"I suggest you choose a few books as well." He then said. "The school books, you will get them during your first classes and they are already paid for, but I assume you would want to have a few extra books that are not school related."_

_The boy, as pale as he was and his shoulders bent tiredly, only shook his head and he was sure the brat thought that there were enough books in the library. Well, there actually were enough books in the library, but they all were school related, they were for learning only. And he had checked. _

_Giving another sigh he simply nodded and went to pay for the things Potter and he himself had chosen. The boy was exhausted and tired and surely not fit to have a discussion with him about such a simple thing as a book he would like to have but didn't dare to choose because he felt that it was too much money spent on him._

_Again he felt anger rush through him at that thought. Didn't have those blasted relatives of Potter any decorum to teach the boy some self value? Some self esteem? His opinion of them got lower and lower with each day he was around the blasted boy that made him worry, that made him wanting to do something to make him __feeling better, to make him happy. He was not a person that made others happy! And surely not his students! _

_And he blamed Potter for this!_

**End flashback**

Their walk back to school had been even more slower and Snape growled darkly the moment they finally had reached the main building. Potter's limp had gotten worse as had the nervous twitching of his arms and hands every now and then and he even was able to feel the exhaustion radiating off the boy.

For a moment he considered giving the boy a small dose of pepper up potion so he would feel better as the day wasn't completely over yet, but then he decided against it. The potion would get Potter up and about a bit, but only by suppressing the symptoms. Potter would have to learn to listen to his body and act accordingly. Namely with rest if he was tired.

It was a bit over an hour until dinner, and as much as he knew how tired the boy was, he wouldn't allow him to skip the meal. The boy was thin enough as it was and he needed every bit of food he could get into the brat. He already was eating too little as it was during meals. But he also knew that the boy simply wasn't able to handle more food at the present time. He would have to learn eating more and again he wondered – why.

Well, he would send the boy to rest until dinner, he sighed. He was about to become a mother hen around the brat! But then – well, it wasn't anything else than he did for his Slytherins.

"I suggest you go to your room and unpack." He calmly said. "It is still an hour until dinner so you might take a short nap if you so wish. I will be there shortly."

Harry nodded at the man, immediately regretting the movement when his headache only got worse. He would have liked to thank him for taking him to the town and for buying all those things, but he just didn't have the energy left to say anything. He would do as he was told and unpack, and then he would lie down for half an hour before dinner. Honestly, he wouldn't even mind skipping dinner and sleeping through, but Snape had made himself clear. He had to attend all meals, he would be in trouble if he skipped them.

Upon reaching their quarters he opened the door and tiredly slipped inside, crossed the large living area and then went into the room he had been given. It wasn't a large room by all means, but it was really nice. The dark wooden boards were covered with cream coloured and soft, fluffy carpets in front of the bed and underneath the desk.

The bed itself was large and soft with thick pillows, a blanket and an additional fleece blanket. The desk was large and well cared for as was the cupboard, and a shelf stood at one wall beside the closet. An armchair stood in one corner and the chair in front of the desk was just as comfortable as was the armchair itself. All in all, it definitely was the nicest rooms he ever had owned.

He unpacked the book bag, and he put in the holder with a few parchments and the writing case with the ruler and the quills. He was just about the take the bottle of ink and to slip it in the side pocket that was attached to the book bag and that was designed to keep the ink bottle safe and upright so the ink wouldn't spill, when he noticed a book in the shopping bag.

He hadn't bought a book, so it had to be one of Snape's, the man had bought some books after all. He took it out of the shopping bag and turned towards the door to place it at the coffee table in the living area for Snape to find it later, just when he read the title.

'_The wizard that trusted no__ one – bestseller from Marlow Hedrick, famous writer of teenage books'_

He frowned. Snape surely wouldn't buy a book for teenager for himself. But he, Harry, hadn't bought the book. Snape however had paid for everything they had taken with them. So – there was only one explanation. Snape must have bought that book for him, Harry. But why? Why in Merlin's name would Snape do such? He had made clear that he didn't want to have a book, Snape had already given him enough! Snape had already spent enough money on him! And he never would be able to give anything back to the man! He never would be able to pay the man back! He …

Feeling pure frustration washing over him he left his room and went into the bathroom. He needed to clear his head and he needed to get rid of his headache so he could think clearly. So he turned on the cold water faucet and first held his hands underneath the running cold water before splashing his face.

He still didn't understand it. Snape keeping himself from giving away his normally sarcastic and hurtful comments was one thing. And Snape being civil and even friendly to him was one thing too. Snape buying parchment, a quill and ink for him, school things he needed, was one thing too even it bordered a line he didn't dare to cross.

But buying him clothes and more quills than necessary and pencils and a book bag – not to mention a book he wouldn't need for classes! That was crossing that line! And he simply didn't know what to do about it. He simply didn't know how to deal with the situation.

It wasn't that he never before had gotten presents. He had gotten a book from Hermione for Christmas whenever she too had stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays. And he had gotten a box of Bertie Bott's Beans or Chocolate Frogs from Ron whenever he had stayed at Hogwarts and they had celebrated Christmas together. But aside from that – he never before had gotten anything! And now Snape of all people had bought him more than absolutely necessary! Snape! And not just school stuff! But a book and clothes too! Even shoes and a jacket! He surely would have managed without them! But Snape had …

After splashing a few hands full of the cold water on his face he finally felt at least the panic cease a bit and he sighed. He still had a headache but it wasn't as worse as it had been and he felt a bit better at least. Straightening up his eyes fell onto the mirror above the sink and avoiding his own reflection he knew would be a terrible sight, he caught the reflection of his Potions Master standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest instead, looking at him thoughtfully.

He let his head fall, looking back down into the sink and he sighed softly. He didn't know how to deal with the man right now. He didn't know what to think, for Merlin's sake, right now. And he didn't know how to deal with the situation itself right now. He didn't know …

The sound of soft footsteps behind him caused him to look up into the mirror again and he inwardly sighed once more as he saw the reflection of the man standing just behind him, looking back at him through the mirror. The next thing the man however did startled him nearly out of his pants.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Snape entered their guest quarters and immediately noticed the door to the boy's room being open – as well as the bathroom door, and he could hear the water running in there. He didn't have to be a genius to know what had happened. The boy hadn't been to the toilet or he would have closed the door. He simply had found the book he had bought despite the boy's refusal and he had been upset about it.

On his way to the bathroom he crossed the door to the boy's room and cast a quick look inside. Right, there was the book laying on the desk, but from the boy, there was no sign of him in the room. He went to the bathroom and looking inside he found the brat standing in front of the sink, splashing cold water onto his face and he leaned against the doorframe, watching the thin and slightly trembling form of the child, his face darkening.

Right now, while the child was so unaware of being watched, he easily could notice the boy's bad condition he was in. Desperate, exhausted, starved and the boy definitely had been crying. Over a book! Merlin!

The boy had been crying over a simple book!

Hadn't he gotten a book before? Surely his relatives had bought books for him too. But then – well, probably not, considering that they seemingly hadn't even bought proper clothes for the boy, no, they surely hadn't. But surely his friends had given him birthday presents, or presents for Christmas, and knowing the know-it-all Granger, she surely had bought him books!

He had thought that the book might lighten the boy's depressed mood a bit, that he would be happy about it. But most of all, he had wanted the boy to learn something about it, about the situation as well as about the book itself, or the content of the book. He however wouldn't have bought it if he had known that it would upset the boy _so much_. For once in his life he had intended to do something good. But then – well, it wasn't the boy's fault that he wasn't used to get anything.

Watching Potter straightening up and looking into the mirror above the sink he noticed the desperate look in the boy's eyes that quickly changed into a startled one and then to embarrassed before he lowered his gaze towards the sink he still was leaning his hands onto and he simply couldn't resist the urge to step into the bathroom, to somehow comfort the brat.

To hell with their history, the boy was his student and the boy was his charge right now, and if one of his students or his charge was that miserable, then he simply had to do something about it if it was possible. And honestly, the boy wasn't what he had seen in him anyway. There was no need to keep this history running between them. The boy wasn't bad at all, actually.

Maybe it was just the fact that they both were together at a place far from home and that they both knew no one here, that they both were strangers here. Maybe it was just the fact that they both had to find a way to live in the middle of nowhere where soon a harsh winter would be upon them for the upcoming school year. And maybe it was just the fact that …

Well, it didn't matter anyway. He simply had started to care for the damn brat, at least since he had seen that his picture of the boy had changed so drastically. It had been like a puzzle that had been almost completed, but almost only. Like a puzzle that had missed one single piece. The puzzle had given him the picture, even if there had been a piece missing, and it had been a picture that had been clear. The entire face had been visible in the puzzle, with the hair and the glasses, the body had been visible and even the background. It had been a clear picture he had seen in the puzzle and he had gotten used to this picture.

But now he had found the missing piece and he had placed it into the spot where it belonged to, and suddenly the picture had changed. Not entirely, not really changed. The face was still the same, as was the hair and the glasses. The body too was still the same and even the setting had remained. And nevertheless the picture, that what the picture expressed, it had shifted, somehow. With just one missing piece he had put into the puzzle to complete it.

Stepping behind the brat he inwardly snorted while watching the small form in the mirror, that watched him back from within the mirror.

Hathomesomething … little robe … indeed! The clothes he had bought for the boy today would have fit Draco on his eleventh birthday! But surely not a fifteen year old teenager!

And yet – they did fit Potter, he had checked and he had double checked.

Sighing he lifted his hand, noticing the boy's shoulders stiffening, noticing the boy's reflection in the mirror getting startled, scared and near panicky, and for a moment he wondered why. Surely the boy didn't expect him to hit him!

For a moment he considered to stop his movement, to simply let his hand fall back to his side, but then he carried his movement out and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing the bony shoulder for a moment.

"Dinner will be ready soon." He simply said, knowing that the boy wouldn't be able to rest right now anyway and even if, it wouldn't do for him to lay down for ten minutes only. He would send the boy to bed early instead. "It is a book only, Potter." He then added softly. "And it was given to you to read so I can have a bit of peace from my ward."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

_'__ka'êškóne__, é__ánovetäno__ naa__ é__a'xaame.' /the child, he's sad and he had been crying./ _Wohehiv thought the moment Severus and the boy entered the dining hall and he wondered why. He knew that Severus had taken the boy to the shops in town, so the boy should be happy to have new clothes. Yet – he noticed that the child hadn't changed into anything else than his old and baggy things he had worn since he had arrived. He looked upset and the Potions Master looked … he looked strange, he looked worried and sad and … dared he say troubled?

Maybe the child hadn't taken the shopping so well. _If_ the boy was neglected, then he might not be used to go shopping and to get things, and considering the boy's awful clothes, he might have hit a nail there. Yes – that might be just the reason. The boy not knowing how to deal with the situation and Severus being troubled because the boy was troubled. Did those two start to bond already? Severus at least, seemed to care.

"Good evening, Severus." He greeted his colleague the moment the man took his usual place and then nodded back at him.

"Hello Hahkethomemah." He said to the boy, hoping that he again would gain a small smile from the child. But he didn't. In the contrary. This time the boy looked up at him, just for a moment, and for the first time since the boy was here he could see him without his mask and he was startled over the amount of desperation and pain, emotional pain, over the amount of tiredness and fear he read in the child's pale and young face.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**

* * *

To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_The last day before the students arrive__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	6. the wizard that trusted no one

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"Hello Hahkethomemah." He said to the boy, hoping that he again would gain a small smile from the child. But he didn't. In the contrary. This time the boy looked up at him, just for a moment, and for the first time since the boy was here he could see him without his mask and he was startled over the amount of desperation and pain, emotional pain, over the amount of tiredness and fear he read in the child's pale and young face. _

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****six**

**The wizard that trusted no one**

'_The wizard that trusted no one - Chapter one, ghosts_

_A long time ago there had been a young wizarding boy. It might have been in England or in France, or maybe in Spain or in Italy. Maybe it wasn't in Europe at all but in America or in Japan, or even in Africa. It really didn't matter, because each and every country has such a wizarding boy._

_Our wizarding boy however was an eleven year old who had been named Capacious. Capacious Maxwell actually, and currently he was sitting on the ground, tiredly leaning against a stone wall near the town, a stone wall that went along the road that would lead into said town. But he didn't intent to follow that road, or the stone wall. He just sat there, dreaming, thinking, remembering a time that has past, a time in which he had been happier. Somehow however, it seemed so long ago, so long that he actually couldn't remember much. _

_His mum and his dad had been with him back then, and he remembered that his mum had had __long blond hair and that her voice had been sweet, and that her skin had been so soft, that her clothes had smelled of lavender. And he remembered that his dad had had black hair, that he had been so tall that he had to lay his head back into his neck so he could have been looking up at him. His voice had been deep and booming and he had been so calming all the time, he never had been really angry._

_A small smile crossed the boy's face when he thought at them, but it vanished as soon as it had come and only sadness and loneliness was left in his brown eyes. __That had been many years ago. He had been as small as Bantami then._

_"Bantami." He whispered while he tiredly lay down at the cold and stony ground, closing his eyes. _

_Had he only stayed with his aunt. Had he only endured her mocking and her hateful words. Had he only not giving in to her hurtful words that he should take his brother and leave her finally alone to bother someone else with all their needs, had he only not left during those dangerous times where no one had much to survive with in the first place. Then maybe Bantami would be still alive. But he had left, and he had taken Bantami with him. And now Bantami was dead. He had died nearly two weeks ago and he had not even seen his seventh birthday._

_He had tried to keep his little brother alive. He had tried everything. He had exchanged everything he'd had for food, even his shoes and his shirt, as torn as they had been. He even had stolen food, but it simply hadn't been enough. There simply hadn't been enough food to keep Bantami alive in the first place__, not for an eleven year old child that had no one to depend on, no one to help him. _

_He didn't realize that he himself didn't fare any better than his little brother had been and he didn't realize when his eyes closed, when his last breath left his lungs and when his heart finally stopped beating. _

_People were walking by, some slowly, their eyes directed at the cobblestones ahead of them, not seeing the small form of the eleven year old boy that was about to die, and some hurriedly, their eyes glued to the buildings of the town ahead of them, not noticing the child that had died at the foot of the stone wall that led into the town._

_"Capa?" A small voice asked while little hands shook him and he opened his eyes._

_"Tam__i?" He asked back, sitting up quickly and pulling the smaller boy into his arms, pressing the small form tightly against his chest. "Tami! You are here! And you look better than last I've seen you! Are you alright?"_

_"I'm now!" The little boy answered, trying to wriggle out from his brother's harsh grasp. But in truth he didn't mind. He always had felt safe in his brother's arms. "I'm now that you're here!"_

_For the first time since he had been awakened by Tami, Capa looked around and with a frown he noticed that he still was sitting on the ground, at the foot of the wall that led into town, but a few feet away from where he had sunken to the floor earlier. People still were walking by, were heading into town. It was starting to get dark after all and the people went home from their work in the harbour or on the fields. He lowered his head to one side when he noticed a small form laying just a few feet to his right._

_It took him a while until he realized that the small form that was laying there, actually was he, his body, and he blinked in confusion. How could he be laying there, when he in truth was sitting here? What had happened__? Was he dead maybe? Just as Tami? Was he a ghost? Just as Tami?_

_"Why are you laying there, Capa?" Tami asked, looking up at him with his large eyes that were just as brown as he had remembered them. _

_"Well, I guess I'm dead now, just as you." He answered, wondering if it was the right thing to tell Tami that he was dead. And now that he looked at his little brother more closely, he could see that he really still was dead. It hadn't been a dream come true and Tami being alive again suddenly. _

_He could see his little brother clearly, and he could touch him, he felt him, and he even could feel the joy and happiness racing through him, but he, both of them actually, were different from their surroundings. Where everything was just shades of grey, the street, the stone wall, the sky, and even the people that walked by, there were he and Tami – just in colour – he didn't find a better term to describe it. Tami's trousers, as torn as they were, were black, his shirt was blue and his hair was as blond as their mother's had been. He looked a bit pale, but healthy. _

_"I don't care!" The boy cried. "As long as you're here now!"_

_A soft voice startled him and he turned his head._

_A man in his mid-ages had stopped and had knelt beside his dead body, looking at it with sad eyes._

_"Oh, child!" The man whispered. "Why didn't you trust us enough to ask for help, child? Some of us would have given it."_

_The man seemed to be large, maybe as large as his father had been. He was slender and – Capa blinked curiously – he was not grey, he was black. His trousers were black, his shirt was black, and his hair was black. The face itself, he couldn't see it, but he was sure that he would find a different colour there than grey too. Was he too a ghost?_

_But then the man reached out his hands and gently took hold of his dead body, lifted it up and started straightening up._

_For a moment he was startled, he even was afraid, scared. What did the man want with his dead body? Where would he bring it? What would happen to him, the ghost, when his body was gone? And he was just about to get up himself, to take his body back, when he felt the small hands of his brother on his arm._

_"It's ok, Capa!" The boy whispered. "I felt the same when you took my body away and into the earth. But I knew that you wouldn't harm me, I trusted you."_

_But he, Capa, he never had trusted people. Not since his parents had died, had been killed. Tami had been too young back then, barely two years old, and then he had grown up with him. He had cared for Tami. He had kept him safe and he had kept him happy. He had done everything for Tami he could have done. He even had managed to keep him from being hurt by their aunt._

_And then, when he had known that he wouldn't manage any longer, when he had known that Tami had become old enough to understand his aunts words, he had taken him and he had brought him away. They had lived __here, in a nearby and abandoned hut, and it had been two great years. No other people, no adults, absolutely no one. _

_It hadn't been an easy time, he had to admit that, but they had been happy._

_And then Tami had become ill._

_And then he had died._

_How could he trust now? How could he trust this man now enough to allow him to take his body away? What if he needed it at some point? What if … but then he realized that his body couldn't stay there, it would rot, and it would start to smell. Someone had to take it away. And anyway, what would he need his body for, now that he was dead? _

_So – if someone had to take his body away, so maybe it was the best if it was this man who took it. He seemed sad at least that he had died, even if he had not known him. _

_For a moment he watched the man turn his head into his direction and furrowing his brows, tilting his head a bit to his left, as if he could see them, or sense them, but then he shook his head, turned and walked away, his, Capa's dead body in his arms. It wasn't a ghost too then, if he couldn't really see them, if he could touch things, even if he looked colourful – at least a bit.'_

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Taking a deep breath Harry laid the book aside. That really was gross.

Had Snape known that it was a horror-story when he had bought him the book? But then – the author was a writer of teenage books. So it couldn't really be a horror-story. But it was gross nevertheless.

He wanted to go on reading, he wanted to know who the stranger had been that had taken Capa's body to bury it when everyone else had just went by. And he wanted to know what would happen with the ghosts of Capa and Tami. And he wanted to know why they saw the man in different colours than either their surrounding or themselves. Was the man a half-ghost? Did half-ghosts even exist?

But it really was gross and he just needed a timeout.

Maybe it was just that Capa reminded him so much at himself. Without having a smaller brother of course, and without having to have to care for a smaller brother, without the dying – maybe luckily, maybe sadly, he thought. But Capa's parents too had died and he too had been living with an aunt that hated him, and his brother, and Capa too had been hungry, as it seemed, and he too had had trusted no one, just like him, Harry.

Trust! For a moment Harry snorted.

Why did trust even exist? What could one do with trust? And why should one trust another one in the first place? What was it good for? It only led you into more misery later on and it only made you weak! It only hurt you! And in the end it only killed you!

Throwing the book across the room and against the opposite wall he pulled his feet up onto the armchair he had been sitting in while reading and hugged them close to his chest. This was what Snape was doing to him! And he didn't understand it!

Snape made him feel strange! Snape made him to want to trust him! And Snape made him to … Snape made him to feel cared for!

_Damn!_

And it had been Snape who had given him this particular book – so, yes, most likely Snape knew it! The story!

But yet again, Snape had bought him a book in the first place, a book that was not school related. And Snape hadn't said anything about the fact that he'd had to buy clothes and his school things for him. He not even had said anything when he had found him in the bathroom later, crying like a baby!

He pressed his eyes close at the memory.

Snape actually had lifted his hand and he had touched him! He had laid his hand on his shoulder! Snape!

No one ever had touched him like this before, no one ever had touched him without meaning to beat him. And now Snape of all people had! Snape of all people had tried to comfort him. And he hadn't even said anything about it later on, just as he never had said anything about the night when he had been breaking down in the man's office after Sirius had died, after Snape had taken him away from the scene by force, never releasing him, never mind how much he had hurt Snape back then by kicking at him.

And he still didn't understand it!

For a moment, back in the bathroom, Harry had thought Snape might hit him, when he had lifted his hand, but he hadn't. He had hesitated a moment, but then he only had placed his hand on his shoulder, had touched him, Harry! As if he wouldn't fear being tainted by touching him! And then Snape only had tried to lighten the situation with a sarcastic comment.

Harry knew exactly what Snape had meant, the evening before, when he had told him that the book had been given to him to be read so he would have a moment of peace from his charge. He knew that Snape hadn't said it to hurt him, even if it might have sounded as if he had. He knew that he hadn't bothered Snape at all. Well, aside from the fact that the man had to get him from the library for nearly each meal because he simply had forgotten, or hadn't cared at all, and aside from the fact that Snape had had to take him to the town for shopping because he didn't have proper clothes.

But otherwise he hadn't asked stupid questions and he hadn't been in the way. So Snape had not meant it as a criticism. He hadn't known what exactly Snape had meant, but he had sounded as if he had been trying to tease him. Strange, really, Snape teasing him. It was nearly as gross as was the book! Didn't it mean that Snape cared? But Snape couldn't care!

Snape couldn't care because he would stop caring at one point or another! Snape hated him! And he would hate him forever! So he simply couldn't care! He wasn't supposed to care! Not about him! He simply wasn't allowed to care! He, Harry, simply couldn't allow Snape to care! It was not meant to be!

"I hate you!" He roughly whispered, for once not caring that his throat hurt while doing so. "I hate you, for what you're doing to me! I hate you, for making me feel wanted! I hate you, for making me feel cared for! I hate you! You'll just go away like everyone else! You'll just leave me alone like everyone else! And then it will hurt just more! I hate you!"

He didn't notice small tears running down his face while he rocked back and forth in his armchair, his face still buried somewhere between his knees and his chest.

And he didn't notice the man that stood in the doorway, dark eyes resting on his small frame, thoughtfully and worried.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He was sitting in his usual armchair, his eyes lost at the dancing flames of the fire in front of him.

So Potter feared he would abandon him. He was sure that the brat didn't really hate him, not anymore. Not since the end of last year. He had noticed the missing hate in the boy's eyes when looking at him since they had left Hogwarts. So – no, Potter didn't really hate him any longer.

He didn't know what exactly it was that the brat was seeing in him now, but he knew that it simply wasn't hate anymore. The boy simply had been desperate when he had whispered those words. So no, he wasn't hurt by them either. He was however deeply worried. Those words had only shown him that he had been right.

The boy trusted no one. And the boy was more troubled than he originally had thought. The boy refused to feel cared for because he feared that he would abandon him, knowing that _that _would hurt and he was ready to lie to himself instead. To convince himself that he hated him, Snape. He didn't mind, really. If the boy wanted to hate him, then be it. The problem was – the boy didn't. Potter only lied to himself so he wouldn't get hurt, because he feared being hurt, by him, Snape.

And that … well, that meant that Potter cared too. Or he wouldn't mind if Snape cared about him or not. He wouldn't be so upset else wise.

So, he made Potter feeling wanted and cared for. What a remarkable feat! He, Severus Snape, making _that _particular brat feeling wanted and cared for, Potter of all people. He had to admit that this surely had not been his intention when he had agreed to taking Potter to Canada, that this surely had not been his intention when being civil with the boy.

Was Potter used to so little that he felt cared for and wanted if someone was just civil to him? It wasn't that he had adopted and spoiled the brat! He just had been civil, for Merlin's sake!

Sighing he run his hand over his eyes.

Well, he didn't mind being civil with the brat. And he didn't mind that the brat didn't hate him anymore, that the brat seemed to care. So in return – no, he didn't mind caring about the brat either. What he actually already did, he noticed startled. He was worried about Potter and for being worried about someone, one had to care.

Well, considering their circumstances and considering all that had happened since the end of last term, it wasn't such a strange thing, he had to admit. It was however startling nevertheless.

Hoping that he would find the boy less upset than he had been half an hour before he got off the armchair, took the mug with the potion and then went to Potter's room to get him for dinner, wondering why it was that he had to remind the brat for meals. One should think as starved as Potter was he should be hungry enough to ask for something to eat every ten minutes. Yet – the boy didn't. He had to remind him and he had to get him for nearly each meal. And then the brat would starve in front of a filled plate because he needed twice the time to eat half the amount every other one ate.

Well, he was lucky and Potter had calmed down meanwhile, was sitting at his desk and taking notes from a book that he recognized at the one the boy had taken from the library.

"What are you studying, Mr. Potter?" He asked after softly knocking at the doorframe to announce his presence. He had learned the hard way to not entering the brat's room and to speak to him from standing directly behind him without the boy knowing that he was there, having startled the boy out of his pants a few times already, and to a point where Potter nearly had gone into a panic attack.

Potter nevertheless jumped and turned a startled and frightened look at him for a moment before getting a grip on himself. The boy lifted the book and simply showed him the cover instead of giving him an answer and he begun seeing a pattern. The brat avoided voiced conversation wherever he could, but the more tired the brat was, or the more upset, the less he was ready to talk at all. He only did so if he felt that there was no other way to give an answer or to express what he felt he _needed _to express.

The title was_ 'spells and charms throughout the ages'_, and he lifted his eyebrow while stepping closer into the room.

It was a book that he had been interested in too. The library at Hogwarts hadn't held this particular book and he had intended to read it now, that he was here. But well – he would read it after Potter had finished with this one. What was however more startling was the fact that Potter had borrowed this book in the first place. Spells and charms throughout the ages wasn't something he would need for school. For his OWLs only the more modern spells and charms were taught and even for his NEWTs he would need only the most important of those old spells and charms. Most of them were even forgotten since decades.

A reason he had been interested in the book in the first place.

"I am glad to see that you started to put a lot of effort into your studies, Mr. Potter." He said, placing the mug he still held in his hand at the desk before taking the book from the boy's hands, marking the page and then closing it, placing it back at the desk too. "I however would appreciate it if you regarded your health with the same eagerness as you regard your studies with nowadays. That includes times for meals, for simply resting and for sleeping."

He had known Potter wouldn't answer him to that and so he wasn't surprised when the boy only shrugged his shoulder before averting his eyes.

"However, I have been brewing a few batches of a nutrient potion, and I expect you to take one right now before dinner, and from then on every morning during breakfast." He said, noticing the frown on the boy's face, the startled look in the green eyes that soon changed into an embarrassed one, one that definitely bordered on self-loathe and he frowned himself. He would have to ensure that the brat really took the potion. And he was sure that the boy would avoid taking it not because he wanted to be disobedient, but because he simply seemed to think that he wasn't worth such a thing, him, Snape, brewing a potion for him, and one that he would have to take at a daily basis too.

"Whatever house you have chosen as yours, I will notify your head of house so he will be able to ensure that you are supplied with one each morning." He simply said, making clear that there would be no way around it. "If I however learn that you have trouble taking the potion regularly during breakfast, I will have you visiting my office each morning so I can ensure you are supplied with what your body needs. And your body _does_ need it, never mind what you yourself might think. Is that clear Mr. Potter?"

The boy nodded at him, even if he looked defeated and lost somehow. Small and lost, and Snape sighed while he took the mug from the desk and reached it towards the child.

"You will find that this potion doesn't taste as bad as you might be used to." He added. "And you actually might drink it here or you might take it with you to the dining hall for drinking it during dinner. What I would suggest as the wiser decision as the potion in itself might be keeping you from eating enough during meals, what is the reason as to why I told you to drink it during breakfast and not before. You are eating too less as it is already."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**

* * *

To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_September the first at a new school__. New faces, new classrooms and new subjects._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would appreciate it if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	7. September, the first

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"You will find that this potion doesn't taste as bad as you might be used to." He added. "And you actually might drink it here or you might take it with you to the dining hall for drinking it during dinner. What I would suggest as the wiser decision as the potion in itself might be keeping you from eating enough during meals, what is the reason as to why I told you to drink it during breakfast and not before. You are eating too less as it is already." _

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****seven**

**September, the first**

"Nervous, Hahkethomemah?" Wohehiv asked, approaching the boy that stood in the doorway, watching the students walking towards the school building, looking frightened and unsure, ready to bolt from the spot and hide somewhere in one of the classrooms. The boy jumped nearly a foot into the air and turned, startled, his right hand going towards the pocket of his Jeans where Wohehiv knew he had his wand underneath his robe and he frowned.

But then the boy seemed to calm down and he shook his head before averting his eyes and nodding, shrugging his shoulders, indicating that – yes, he was nervous, but that he didn't mind, that it was just as it was.

"You will get used to them soon." He said, smiling at the boy. "I have heard that your old school held four times as many students as does this school here. I'm sure you soon will know them all by names and most of them are really nice."

Harry nodded at Wohehiv's words, not knowing if he really should believe them. He was already afraid, even if the crowd of students was far away still.

For a moment he wondered if the students were from different countries as well as were the teachers. Somehow he thought that there was no single teacher that came from the same country and he wondered if it maybe was intended as a support for the students if they came from different countries as well, so they had someone they could speak to in their own language.

Then he wondered for another moment if all the students would be boys as he only had seen male teachers here. Surely there would be a lot of parents who wouldn't want to send their daughters to a school where not one single female teacher resided.

And after that he wondered if the students here would have heard his name before, and if they would have the same expectations the students at Hogwarts had had of him, if he would get along with some of them, or … but then he shook his head. He wasn't supposed to get along with them. He wasn't supposed to become friends with them, He only was supposed to learn as much as he could in as less time as possible. Never mind if he was abroad right now – he still had a destiny to fulfil.

"Why don't you just sit at your table already, Hahkethomemah?" Wohehiv asked, sensing the boy's worries. "I will sit with you so you won't be alone in the beginning. Not being a teacher has the opportunity that I can choose where to sit."

The boy nodded at him, looking actually relieved and he led him away from the entrance and into the dining hall, towards a table that stood near the end of the hall and close to one of the large windows. Well, as perfect as the boy's mask always was, as perfect as his constantly displayed self control was, he, Wohehiv, started being able to read the child nevertheless, even through his mask. Again he watched the way the boy moved and again he was impressed at how much control the boy placed into each of his movements. Six days. Six days the boy was here now and he still seemed tired and in pain.

He had noticed lingering effects from both, physical beatings and several curses on the boy. Not that he had seen any marks, the boy was good at hiding them as well as he was at hiding anything else. But he had noticed those lingering effects nevertheless. The boy still moved slowly and carefully, stiffly, and right now he was choosing a place at the music table where he sat near the corner, a wall in his back and a good view over the entire room. No one would be able to approach him from behind or – Merlin help – attack him without him noticing. And the way his wand hand had moved just a moment before, he was sure that the boy would have his wand at the ready even before anyone had a curse or a hex on his lips. As slowly and as carefully as the boy always moved, he had been rather quick at _that _moment and he wondered why.

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The first students entered the dining hall and went to their respectable tables, waving at each other while walking to different places in the large hall and Wohehiv noticed Harry's shoulders stiffening even more, his muscles locking and his face becoming a well guarded mask as the noise grew louder and the hall filled with people. Children and teenagers only, just as Harry himself was one – yet, they seemed to scare the living hell out of the child.

Severus Snape went along the corridor and then entered the dining hall through the only entrance, the double winged wooden doors, and for a moment his gaze swept through the spacious room. Well, that was it then, he thought. A different place and a different subject, different students and a different employer, but here he was, back at teaching.

But then, just the moment he went towards the table that held the music class, his eyes caught sight of –

Potter!

Potter, sitting at the table that held the music class, Potter sitting at the table that held the students he would be the head of, and he inwardly groaned, halting in his steps for a moment while his shoulders stiffened involuntarily. He had done so much thinking over the past days to ensure that Potter would _not_ land himself in his house, and here he was – and Potter being his student!

For a moment he seethed with anger and he could feel his hands curling into fists, but then he gritted his teeth and relaxed his hands, knowing that he simply would have to deal with it as it was.

And well, maybe it wasn't the worst thing anyway. Potter _had_ been tolerable recently after all, and Potter _had_ started to put some effort into his studies recently after all. Not to mention that he had seen the brat in a different light recently after all too. So – why not giving the brat a chance for once?

But then – he was sure that ...

Sighing he remembered the boy's first potions lesson. He hadn't given the boy a chance back then at all. He had started picking on him without even thinking about it, just because he had been Harry James Potter, son of James Potter. For a moment he wondered what Potter's middle name had been, why it never had been mentioned and if he even had had one, as he had come from an old and pure blood wizarding family. But then he pushed the thought aside. It wasn't important. Potter was dead since long.

Fact was, he never had given Harry Potter a chance because he had been the son of his childhood tormentor and he had picked on him whenever possible, what had been quite often, he had to admit. And if he had to be true to himself, then he also had to admit that he had made the boy's life at Hogwarts quite miserable.

So – maybe it was just time to start over again.

But then – how had the brat managed to land himself in his, Snape's, house? He had been so damn sure that Potter would choose the drawing class! And he had overtaken the music class because he had been sure of that, because it had been a chance to avoid the boy being in his house! He didn't want the boy in his house! Wasn't it enough that he had to teach the brat? That he was the brat's guardian for the year?

He could have chosen the drawing class if he had known that Potter had chosen the music class, which he definitely would have preferred, and his anger boiled up again for a moment. But then he sighed, knowing that it wasn't Potter's fault. The boy had done nothing wrong, not this time. He just had chosen a class without knowing which one he, Snape, would overtake.

Eyeing Potter closely he could see how pale he was, how nervous, scared even, as if he would like to flee the dining hall at one point or another. The shoulders stiff, the hands placed in his lap underneath the table and his gaze directed at said table in front of him, not daring to look up openly, but he could see him throwing unsure and careful glances around the room, hidden beneath lowered lids, as if he tried to find out as much as possible – secretly – like the spy he, Snape, was.

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Harry looked over at the double winged door where the last of the students filled into the hall, followed by some of the teachers, one of them Snape and he sighed inwardly. So a new school year had started. At a new school and with new class mates and teachers, but a new school year had started.

Well, at least Snape wouldn't teach potions this year, he couldn't breathe down his neck, appearing suddenly behind him and startling him, and there were no Slytherins that would sabotage his potion, causing it to explode or to boil over, and Snape wouldn't glare at him throughout the potions class.

Well, not during potions, but during history, and that would be just as bad.

He watched the man walking into the hall and by the table that held the theatre class. He had known that Snape wouldn't take over this class!

He didn't _really_ mind that Snape was teaching history of magic, honestly. He could hide in the back of the classroom during history of magic. He would have to listen and he would have to take notes, nothing else. He wouldn't have to do anything practical in front of Snape or the other students. But most importantly, not in front of Snape where the man could reprimand him for moving the wrong way, for doing things the wrong way, or for breathing the wrong way.

What was Snape doing? Crossing by the table that held the literature class too? He had been sure that this could be a real choice Snape could have made! He was supposed to stop at that table and to sit down there, not to bypass it!

But then – Snape hadn't done anything of those things recently, he had to admit. He neither had reprimanded him, not had he sneered down at him. The man had been strangely and startlingly civil, even kind and comforting at some point or another. And he hadn't scolded him for anything, even if they had lived in the same quarters practically. He even had bought him things he needed, and even a book just for fun. So …

Well, what in Merlin's name was Snape doing now? Standing there in front of the table and eyeing the music class, student by student, even him, before sitting down at the chair beside him? Just as he always had been sitting beside him throughout the past days? That surely was only imagination? Snape surely wasn't the head of the music class?

But then –

"Wohehiv." Snape greeted the healer that was sitting in an adjacent corner seat beside Potter, as if shielding him from the onslaught of people that seemed to scare the blasted brat. "Mr. Potter." He greeted the boy that looked at him as if he were a ghost. Well, as much as he had been surprised to find himself in the position as Potter's head of house, as much Potter seemed to be surprised to find himself in the position as his, Snape's, student.

But then the boy inclined his head and greeted him back with his always silent mannerism before he lowered his eyes back onto the table in front of him, his face paler than it had been a moment before and he wondered what had the boy scared so much.

"Good evening, Severus." Wohehiv greeted back before turning to the students on the table. There were seven of them and he frowned. So it was a rather small class he had, he was not to complain about that, he had to admit.

"This is Master Severus, your new head of house." Wohehiv introduced him to the students and he again frowned while inclining his head in way of greeting the newcomers. The students were to address them with their given names? Well, this was news he would have to get used to. He had thought that only the teachers used their given names together with the term Master. But the students? Somehow it seemed inappropriate to him, but then – well, if this was the custom here? Then who was he to go against that? He would have to endure it, he had endured much worse in his life than students calling him by his given name, honestly.

Yet – he never would allow it at Hogwarts. They would find themselves in detention until they graduated if they ever dared addressing him with his given name instead with 'professor' or 'sir'.

"And this here is Harry, upper grade, fifth year." Wohehiv added, introducing Potter too who inclined his head just as he had done earlier, causing some of the other boy's to frown at Potter. "Those boys here are Andrew, a lower grade and fourth year now, Marc, an upper grade, fifth year - he will be your level, Harry, and Brian, Terry and Sam, upper grades, and sixth years. This here is Glen, seventh year and the apprentice to this class. There is no one new here this year, I see, aside from Harry. I had thought that one or two new first years would attend this class this year. That's the third year now without a new firsty."

The students eyed both of them curiously, a bit warily perhaps, and then greeted them back.

"The drawing class has just the more." Glen, the apprentice then said, looking over at the table at the opposite side of the room. "That's a full house this year."

"As is the literature class." Wohehiv nodded.

"This class here seemed to be the smallest one at all." Snape said with a frown, looking at the other tables too.

"Indeed." Wohehiv answered. "From what I heard your house back at Hogwarts had held much more students."

"I had about seventy students in my house." Snape answered and the heads of the other boy's sitting at the table turned around to look at the Potions Master startled.

"Seventy?" Wohehiv himself seemed to be shocked too. "But that is this number of students tenfold!"

"Indeed." Snape growled.

"Well, then I'm sure you'll be able to handle those seven boy's without any efforts." Wohehiv laughed while the other students – aside from Potter – still gazed at him shocked.

"Oh, believe me, I will." Snape smirked. "They don't know me yet."

Well, Harry had to admit that Snape was right. They didn't know him yet. And Snape surely would have _absolutely_ no trouble handling those seven boys after being the head of a house at Hogwarts. He would manage this here in his sleep without even batting an eye and they didn't know what came to hit them. Snape simply wasn't a teacher to mess up with, never mind how many students his house held, and Harry knew this already. He was sure the rest would learn it soon enough too.

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"Good evening and welcome to a new school year." The voice of the headmaster got Severus and Wohehiv out of their conversation and the Potions Master groaned inwardly, hoping that the older wizard's speech wasn't as insane as Albus' had been each year. "At first I want to introduce a new staff member, Master Severus Snape, head of the music class. He will teach history of magic, even if he originally is a Master of Potions. He comes from a school in England where he had been the Potions Professor and head of a house as well to accompany a student for an exchange and I do hope that you all will show him proper respect."

The man's gaze swept over the students for a moment before continuing.

"For our new students, I wish to hand out a few ground rules." He then said and Snape already prepared himself for a very, very long speech - that much for the insanity of headmasters. "During the weeks, breakfast will be held in your houses, and where exactly there, that will your head of house decide. Those times will also serve as intern house meetings between the students and their head of house where each of them can say what they plan for the day, how they feel, what they like or dislike, even simply how they slept or whatever else they wish to say, in the familial privacy their house provides and without the entire school hearing them. With those meetings we ensure that really each and every student has a chance to express what he wishes to and that there is a close relationship between the teachers and the students. Lunch and dinner however, you all will be expected to be present here in the dining hall. Meals during the weekends you may have in your house if your head of house is amenable with this."

Merlin!

Snape inwardly groaned a second time. Would he really have to listen to the babbling of the students each morning? During breakfast even? Before he was awake completely? Surely those students were all old enough to approach their teachers by themselves instead of having such a meeting like children in pre-school!

"The system here is quite easy and I am sure you soon will get used to it." Acheron then continued. "The art class you have chosen will be your house and your family during your stay here and you will live as such in different houses. Within those houses themselves, you will find a spacious work station in the basement that will serve as the classroom for your art classes. In the ground level you will find a living room, a kitchen large enough to eat in if your head of house so chooses, a bathroom and the teacher's study. And in the upper level you will find your rooms as well as a second bathroom. Each student has his own room there, as has your head of house and I expect you to respect each other's privacy by knocking before entering a room."

Well, that sounded quite comfortable. He had his own room together with his study. Acheron had been right, they would not live as students and teachers like at Hogwarts, but as rather large families.

"The students are divided into lower grades, which are children from first to third year and upper grades, which are children from fourth to sixth years. I expect the upper grades to show responsibility in helping the lower grades in their studies as long as their own studies are not affected. Each house has an apprentice too that will be a seventh year student and that will be an assistant to your head of house. All the other seventh year students are to study on their own in the town where they have rented rooms by their own to learn autonomy and they only will come back to school for their NEWTs."

Well, that was a system he was not familiar with, but it didn't sound too bad. He would have to ask if he had a seventh year student out there in the town so he could look at him from time to time.

"One more thing, however." The headmaster said. "Each house has assigned a house elf. I nevertheless expect all of you to keep your own rooms clean and to show as much autonomy as possible, do not depend on the house elves only or you won't learn how to care for yourselves later on. All other rules such as several duties, curfew or times for outings and such things will be decided by your head of house and I do expect you to obey them without a fuss as I trust them to handle their houses in your best interest. That is all – for now."

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Well, for once it had been a welcome speech that hadn't been insane like Albus' speeches always had been. No strange words in them, no strange suggestions and most importantly – no school song! Dinner itself had been an odd affair. It had been a mixture between silence and conversations, depending on the level of tiredness the individual students had been in from their journey. On his table the students that had been introduced as Brian, Sam and Terry had been conversing together animatedly while Andrew and Marc had been eating in silence, only from time to time asking a question or throwing in a remark.

Glen, the apprentice had been conversing with Wohehiv and him, Snape, asking him what he expected and how he would handle the house, what his plans for the next few days were regarding the class and they had discussed a few ground rules. He had learned that their previous head of house had had the first and second years in bed at nine o'clock, the third and fourth years at ten o'clock, and the fifth and sixth years at eleven o'clock, just as he had had his students at Hogwarts.

After asking when the first lesson started and learning that they had to be in classes at nine, considering that they had to have breakfast and that for their house intern meeting first, he decided that he would have them awake at seven a.m. – that way even the fifth and sixth year students would have at least eight hours of sleep each night.

And now he watched Potter standing in the doorway to his room, taking a careful step over the threshold and he went over to the brat. The boy's room was similar to the room he had occupied in their guest quarters. Dark wooden boards were lining the floor as well as the ceiling but the walls here were not made of stone but of logs that made the room even darker what however was compensated by a large window opposite the door through which a lot of light would come in during the day. Now it was dark however and the only light came from two burning torches attached at each side of the window and the fire burning in the fireplace to their right.

The furniture was made of dark wood too and the design was quite old. A large desk stood underneath the window, with a comfortably looking chair in front of it, covered with a sheepskin. A large but simple bed covered with cream coloured and soft pillows and blankets stood at the wall to their left as well as a closet and an armchair that looked as if it could swallow the boy, with a sheepskin as well on it, stood in the corner between the desk and the fireplace. At the wall with the door and to their right, there stood a shelf for books and other private things.

On the floor bright cream coloured and soft, fluffy rugs were laid out in front of the bed, of the fireplace and underneath the desk. All in all the room looked very comfortable.

He however didn't understand Potter's reaction. The boy looked as if he would break down in tears at any moment, as if he … not for the first time the past few days Snape frowned. The boy looked as if he never before had had a room like this before. And considering what he meanwhile knew about the boy – well, it might just be.

"Are you pleased with this room, Mr. Potter?" He asked, causing the boy to jump and to look up at him startled before looking back at the room. There wasn't any other reaction for a while but then the boy nodded.

"It's a lot better than …" Harry began, whispering sadly, but then stopped abruptly when he realized what he had been about to say. 'It's a lot better than a cupboard.' He might be getting on better with the Potions Master lately, but there was absolutely no way he was going to tell him anything about the Dursleys, absolutely no way. First – uncle Vernon only would punish him for it if he found out, and he just knew that it wouldn't be one of those regular beatings. It wouldn't be the first time after all. Second – Snape probably wouldn't believe him anyway and only would be back to hating him for lying. And third – he just didn't want to talk about it with Snape, knowing that …

Well, no. Snape most likely would _not_ make fun of him afterwards. He had broken down in the man's arm completely at the end of last year and Snape hadn't made fun of him. Snape had seen him vulnerable more than once and he hadn't made fun of him. So, no – he wouldn't do so now either, he was sure of that. But being sure wasn't the same as knowing it to one hundred percent.

"Better than what?" Snape asked curiously when it became obvious that Potter wasn't going to continue. He had seen the boy's face and even in the flickering light of the torches he had noticed the startled expression that had changed into a scared one. The boy had been about to soy something he hadn't intended to say at all, and when he had realized what he was about to say he had been startled, scared and had retreated a step into safety.

Potter only shook his head as an answer, not ready to give a verbal answer away again right now, maybe afraid of what he would say if he said anything at all. Was that the reason the boy was so reluctant to give verbal answers? Was it really because of that? That he actually feared what he might say if he said anything at all?

With a suppressed sigh and a short nod of his head he accepted Potter's headshaking as an answer for now and retreated from the boy's room with a quiet 'good night'. He would think about it later. Right now Potter needed his sleep and right now he wasn't ready to have a nightly discussion by forcing the subject.

Harry on the other hand breathed a breath of relief the moment Snape had left his room. This had been close. He nearly had said something foolish he only would have regretted later on. He really should be more careful!

Tiredly he changed into his pyjamas and then went to bed, relishing for a moment in the sensation the soft rug underneath his bare feet caused, before he climbed into bed and lay down, went to sleep, thinking about the classes he would be beginning the next morning, and with a small smile on his face for the first time in ages.

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The sound of someone crying reached his ears, waking him from the nightmare he'd had.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, Harry realized it was he himself who was crying and with some effort he fought to stop himself, slowly fighting off sleep to become fully awake. As he did so, he noticed a cool hand that was stroking over his forehead, calming him, its counterpart firmly placed across his chest, keeping him from thrashing too much.

He forced his eyes open, meeting the concerned black eyes of one Severus Snape, his new head of house.

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**

* * *

To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_First morning and first lessons__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	8. first classes

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_The sound of someone else crying reached his ears, waking him from the nightmare he'd had._

_As he became more aware of his surroundings, Harry realized it was he himself who was crying and with some effort he fought to stop himself, slowly fighting off sleep to become fully awake. As he did so, he noticed a cool hand that was pressed over his forehead, calming him, its counterpart firmly placed across his chest, keeping him from thrashing too much._

_He forced his eyes open, meeting the concerned black eyes of one Severus Snape, his new head of house._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****eight**

**First classes**

The knock on his door startled him out of his sleep and quickly he sat up, trying to find out where exactly he was.

He wasn't at the Dursleys. He was laying in a bed instead of curled into a small ball on a thin and worn baby mattress. He wasn't at Hogwarts either as he didn't hear Ron or Neville snoring. And he wasn't at the guest room at the academy of arts anymore also. There simply were not the usual stony walls but walls build of wooden logs.

Then he remembered.

Yesterday evening … the welcoming feast … moving into the house of music … going to bed after nearly spilling one of his secrets to Snape … after nearly telling the man about his cupboard … Snape … wait!

Quietly he groaned. He'd had a nightmare last night, and Snape had been there to wake him, to comfort him! Snape of all people! Again Snape! Always Snape! What was it with that man that he made him wanting to trust him? What was it with that man that he made him felt cared for? What was it with the man that made him … damn!

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Snape went from room to room, knocking at the wooden doors, waiting for a moment until a sleepy 'I'm awake' or 'I'm coming' was heard before moving on to the next door to knock at while wondering why in Merlin's name they couldn't set an alarm by themselves. His last door was Potter's and for a moment he felt irritated when there came no answer that the brat was awake – until he remembered the boy's reluctance to use his voice.

With a sigh he just opened the door, finding Potter sitting in the bed, tiredly looking around as if he tried to figure out where exactly he was.

"Time to get up, Mr. Potter." He said, startling the brat with his voice, causing him to flinch back in his bed, to look at him startled and scared for a moment and he realized that the boy had not noticed the door being opened. He however had himself back under control just a moment later and he nodded at him, indicating that he would get up and Snape gave a curt nod in response, retreating from the room.

He went into the kitchen and started to lay the table while Woggy, the house elf that was assigned to them, quickly prepared breakfast just as Glen entered the kitchen and helped in laying the table. They worked quietly, both not in the mood for conversation. Snape simply being grumpy as he always was in the mornings before he had his first cup of coffee and Glen being tired, not having been able to sleep much last night as he had been nervous about his new role as an apprentice, and to a teacher he didn't know too.

The next student that arrived was Potter, and the brat, as pale as he looked, he seemed to be ready for the day, his hair wet from the shower and for once he was wearing proper clothes. Well, he had to be fair, the boy had worn some of his new clothes yesterday evening for dinner in the hall too.

What however was remarkable and had him lifting his eyebrow curiously was the fact that Potter had been the last one he had wakened, but he was the first one present and he simply got out knives and forks from a drawer and placed them on the table as if it was the most normal thing to do for a boy his age instead of sitting down at the table and simply waiting for breakfast to be served. Not to mention that the brat seemed to know how to manoeuvre himself in a kitchen, even if it was a kitchen he was in for the first time.

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Glen didn't know what to make out of the new boy in their house. He wasn't a first year student and Master Acheron had said that Master Snape was here to accompany an exchange student from England. So this boy, Harry, was this exchange student. He was a fifth year, Wohehiv had said so, but he was as small as the new first years. And he definitely looked ill, startling ill.

He hadn't said anything yet, neither yesterday evening during dinner nor this morning, and he simply was acting strange, as if trying to keep everyone away by a wall he had built around himself. He seemed afraid of Master Severus too, but Master Severus, as harsh and as cold as he seemed to be, hadn't done anything to Harry.

Well, he had to admit, they _both_ seemed strange, stiff and rigid somehow, wary and … well, strange. Maybe it was because both of them were from England. Maybe in England all people were like Master Severus and this boy.

With a frown he remembered the Professor opening the door to the boy's room this morning and he realized that maybe he hadn't given an answer after being wakened like the other's had. He had come out of the shower and he had noticed Master Severus waking them all. So it was only logically that Master Severus would enter to ensure that Harry was awake. That however meant that Master Severus had known that he wouldn't get an answer. And that again meant that the boy had to be mute. Well, a mute in a music class, that would be interesting.

He watched Andy and Marc entering the kitchen and sitting at the table, just when Master Severus growled a "sit down" and then placed the teapot at the table and took his place too, beside the new boy, like he had done the evening before for dinner in the hall and somehow it reminded him at someone that tried to protect someone else.

"Woggy." Master Severus called the house elf after taking a sip of his coffee and the small creature appeared with a small popping sound, startling the new boy who jumped in his seat, causing the teacher to frown at him for a moment in return.

"Would you please go looking for our three missing students, Woggy?" Master Severus asked and now it was Glen's turn to frown. Wizards who were friendly to house elves were rare, actually, especially if those wizards were pure bloods. And he was sure that Master Severus _was_ a pure blood. His entire appearance radiated dignity, aristocracy and nobility. Yet – he was friendly to a house elf.

Strange, really, those two.

"Of course, Master Snape." The house elf disappeared, just to pop in a moment later again.

"The three are on their way." Woggy announced calmly.

"Thank you, Woggy." Master Severus said and this time Glen nearly chocked on his tea. Yes – really strange, he thought, mental! The Professor was not only friendly to the house elf, he even thanked him! Well, maybe this too was normal in England? He would have to try and get more information on the country and its people to understand his new Master. And he knew that it was important for an apprentice to understand his Master, just as it was important for a Master to understand his apprentice. Yet, he had no doubt that Master Severus already had gathered all the informations he would need. The man seemed to be one who did the things he was doing to his best abilities and with uttermost regards.

A moment later Brian, Terry and Sam came into the kitchen, their heads together like always, and Master Severus leaned back in his chair, calmly, dangerous calmly, watching them, the cup of coffee still in his hands as if to warm them on the hot porcelain.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence, Misters Coleman, Hollister and Edwards." Master Severus drawled and he shuddered at the coldness in the man's voice. Well, he had known that Master Severus was not a person to take lightly, and right now he had his proof. No one normally used the surnames of the students.

Well, he had heard Master Severus calling Harry 'Potter' before. Not even '_Mr_. Potter', but simply 'Potter'. But he had called him, Glen, simply Glen. And Marc he had called simply Marc last evening once. So, well – he simply guessed that those three were in trouble now. But – because they simply were too late?

"Care to tell me _when_ exactly I knocked at your doors, gentlemen?" Master Severus asked, calmly, still looking at them while quirking his eyebrow.

"Uhm … at seven?" Brian asked with a confused frown on his face.

"Ah." Master Severus looked at Brian. "And care to tell me what time it is now?"

"Dunno … a quarter to eight?" Terry looked around for a clock.

"How eloquent." Master Severus drawled. "Exactly, however. So, care to explain _how_ it is that the three of you have been the first being wakened by me, but you are the last ones to arrive for breakfast?"

Yes, definitely not one to mess around with, this professor, Glen thought.

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Snape was seething meanwhile.

Not only had they been too late. None of them had given a greeting upon entering the kitchen, none of them had apologized for being late, and none of them had addressed him with 'sir', 'professor' or 'master', as it seemed common here. He finally placed the cup he had been holding at the table, leaned forwards and placed his arms at the tabletop in front of him, glaring at the three boys.

"First, the moment you are entering a room, I expect you to give away any means of greetings, _always_. Second, if you are late, never mind if you are late for meals, for classes or for any other appointments, then I expect you to apologize, _always_. Not to mention the fact that it should _not_ be happening in the first place, mind you. Third, if you are speaking to a teacher, _any_ teacher, then I expect enough sense of decency and respect from you to address the adult with at least 'sir', if you are not able to bring yourself to use a word like 'professor' or 'master'. Forth, I _absolutely_ will _not_ accept speech like you have displayed just a moment ago. The words 'dunno', 'wanna' as well as other similar expressions are to ban from your vocabulary. You are sixteen year old wizards and no pre-school toddlers and I expect more from you than what manners you have displayed this morning. I do hope that I have made myself _very_ clear, gentlemen?"

The three of them looked at each other, shocked, before looking back at him and then they quickly nodded, all three of them a quietly whispered "yes, sir" on their lips while Glen too blinked at him startled. Andrew and Marc just looked back and forth between him and the three wrongdoers, and Potter looked frightened, inwardly covering in his chair, nearly cringing away from him.

"Good, gentlemen." He finally said, leaning back and calmly taking a sip of his coffee. "Because if you will display such lack of manners and respect _ever_ again, you will find yourself in more trouble than you are able to handle. And now to your morning routine generally. In future I expect you to get up at seven by yourself. All of you are old enough to set an alarm. You will be ready, and that includes a shower each morning, and present in the kitchen, already sitting at the table, at half past seven – at the latest! And now, seeing that it is already eight o'clock now, I suggest that you start eating or you will be late for your first day of classes."

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Harry entered the potions classroom, a room at the far end of the building in the basement and he wondered why potions always was taught in a dungeon or in a basement. It was a classroom, set like the one at Hogwarts. The tables were large enough to set a cauldron, several ingredients and the chopping board to work on as well as books and parchment for reading and taking notes.

He noticed Snape standing beside Professor Manuel – _Master_ Manuel, he corrected himself – talking animatedly about – well, probably potions. They were seven students only, he noticed, Marc, Brian, Terry, Sam, Glen and he himself aside from a student he didn't know, that looked like a sixth or seventh year. So, as it seemed, each class had their lessons separated - nearly.

He guessed that this other student probably was the only upper grade in his own house and was therefore in theirs. Andrew, their only lower grade in their house probably would be in another, lower grade class. Surely they wouldn't hold a class for one single student.

He went to the back of the classroom, wondering why Snape was there. Snape was supposed to teach history of magic, and not potions. And he had to admit the Professor's presence made him nervous, reminding him at the dreaded potions lessons he'd had at Hogwarts for the past four years with the man breathing down his neck and reprimanding him for every single mistake he or any other Gryffindor student had made, for being the way he was even.

But then – Snape really had changed.

Well, this morning he had shown his old snarky self, but it had not been directed towards him, but towards Brian, Sam and Terry. Snape had not found a reason to be angry at _him_ for once. And he even had simply shoved the cup with the potion he would have to drink each morning towards him, wordlessly, without a single nasty comment. Not to mention that Snape had made the potion quite tasty, as shocking as it might sound.

It had reminded him rather at a cup of milkshake that tasted of bananas and chocolate than at a potion at all and he had been really startled when he had taken the potion for the first time, during dinner the day before the students had come to school. And Snape had been right, he would have had trouble eating much if he had taken the potion _before_ breakfast. It was as satiable as would be a complete meal and Snape had made him eat breakfast too, and now he didn't really know how he would manage eating lunch in a few hours.

"They would have gotten better results if they had used bat blood." He heard Snape saying when he passed the two teachers. "Bats are nocturnal and therefore eat insects that are accessible at night – like fireflies whose enzyme luciferin would have strengthened the natural antidote already present in the bat's bloodstream."

Of course it was a discussion about – potions!

He headed for the back row in the classroom and started to take out parchments and his pencil case and then he waited until the lesson would begin. He just hoped that Snape would not be present, that he would leave. Never mind how civil the man now was towards him, he simply made him nervous. Really nervous.

"Why don't you join us here in the front, Harry?" Manuel asked and he could see Potter looking up at the Potions Master with confusion upon his face before finally shaking his head.

"Why ever not?" Manuel asked curiously, not understanding the boy's reaction.

"If I mess up with the potion, it will only be killing me." Potter answered and Snape frowned.

Manuel's eyes however widened in surprise and he took a quick intake of breath.

Well, that surely wasn't what he had expected a teenager to say, not even one with Potter's history, Snape couldn't help thinking. What however was startling just the more weren't even the words themselves but the way he spoke them – tiredly, resigned, and utterly convinced, like a lesson he had learned the hard way and Snape thought he knew the reason. Or the reasons.

For one, he, Snape, hadn't made potions easy for the boy, he had to admit that. And then there was Black. Black had died and Potter blamed himself for the mutt's death. As for Diggory's.

Ignoring the confused stares the other students eyed Potter with he approached the desk the brat sat at and gazed down his nose at the boy. For a moment he didn't say anything and the brat too just looked up at him, his mind wide open and for a moment he could see scenes crossing the boy's mind. He, Snape, berating the boy for something he had known Malfoy had caused, he, Snape, berating the boy for an exploded cauldron Longbottom had caused, he, Snape, berating the boy for being insolent, stupid, lazy and arrogant without having a real reason to blame him for such.

Quickly retreating from the boy's mind he noticed the confused and startled look on Potter's face, just like last time he had entered the boy's mind carefully, the nearly scared and embarrassed look on his face. He leaned down and placed his hands on the tabletop of the teen's workstation, still looking at him, noticing the fear deepening.

"You are not as atrocious at potions as you have been made believing by your former Potions Master, Mr. Potter." He then said. "With a bit of confidence you will manage to brew an acceptable potion without destroying the classroom. And now pack your things and join your class in the front of the room where you will be able to be a part of your class."

The fear on the boy's face quickly turned into pure shock and he nearly grinned at that thought. No, he had not lost his ability with the brat to shock the students. The brat still sat there, frozen to the spot, before he slowly packed his things and got up.

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Potions had been strange, he had to admit.

First, Snape's strange words, then the curt nod the Potions Master had given him before he had turned and then left the classroom, and last but not least the fact that it had been a potions lesson not held by Snape.

Well, while Master Manuel definitely was not in the slightest a teacher to fear, unlike Snape, the fact that he was teaching _potions_, definitely _was_ a fact to fear, at least for Harry. Harry was used to Snape teaching potions. As fearsome as Snape might be, the knowledge that he always was there, that he always watched them, that he always fixed their mistakes _before_ they could kill each other in the potions classroom, in other words, that he kept them alive and safe, was a rather calming thought, he had to admit.

Master Manuel had been a rather absentminded teacher, not noticing what everyone of them did all the time like Snape always had. Snape would have noticed Brian and Sam whispering, or Marc and Terry exchanging notes. He would have seen the strange boy taking the moonstone from Glen's side of the table. However, it had been a class during which nothing had happened – for once – and he actually _had_ managed to brew his draught of peace correctly, just like Snape had said – strangely enough – even if most of the others had had troubles with the syrup of hellbore.

Well, and right now he entered the history of magic classroom, nervously, eying Snape carefully before – yet again – taking a seat in the back of the classroom and hoping that Snape would leave him alone back there.

The other students too filled into the room and the level of noise grew when all of them took out their books and parchments and when all of them fought over the best seats. He noticed Snape's face growing impatient and quickly he sat down, before the man could start turning on him.

Suddenly Snape was at his feet, banging his flat hand onto a table in the front row, startling the students who all stopped in their actions and then looked at him startled.

"Take your seats, gentlemen, immediately." Snape growled. "Anyone not in a seat within the next thirty seconds or speaking out of turn throughout the duration of my class, will have detention – for a week."

Snape's gaze went over the class, fell on him, Harry, and the man wordlessly pointed at him and then to a seat beside Marc. Not at the same table, he still would be sitting alone, and the desk still was in the back of the classroom, but not as far behind as he had intended to sit. Snape glowered at him until he had taken his seat at the desk beside the one Marc sat at, glad that Snape at least had not ordered him to sit at the same desk as the other boy.

Well, he would manage – as always.

"In my class, I expect you to be on time and I expect you to take your seats quickly and quietly, or you will suffer the consequences." The man growled. "I suggest you do remember it in future. And now – take your books away, you won't need them today."

Harry frowned, but put the book back into his book bag, wondering what the man might have planned for the class.

History of magic _could_ be very interesting, he knew, if only Binns ever would do anything else besides of droning on about the goblin rebellions. If he would tell them about dark wizards from the past and the ways they had been captured or otherwise destroyed, well, _that_ might be something Harry would need to know. But Binns hadn't made it beyond goblins in the past four years and Harry doubted he would in the next two.

However, right now it just was strange, having Snape teaching history of magic, but well – it surely couldn't be worse than Binn's classes, now, could it?

'_Probably it could!'_ A small voice in the back of his mind answered him and he sighed. Yes, _surely_ it could.

"Well, which one of you can name me an unforgivable?" The man then asked and for a moment Harry felt himself being back in his defence classroom, back in forth year, when Moody – well, Crouch actually – had asked the same question and for a moment he wondered where Snape had hidden the spiders. Why were all the Ex-Death Eaters or Death Eaters in disguise so obsessed with the unforgivables? Would Snape too try one of the curses on him? Maybe the cruciatus?

With a shudder he remembered the graveyard at the end of last year, after the fourth task, Voldemort casting this particular spell at him and he hoped that Snape would not do that, while sitting a little bit straighter. He tried to ignore the still constant stabbing pain in his back and sides. He wouldn't give Snape reason for reprimanding him – or to chose him for demonstration.

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Fixing his eyes on Potter, he saw a slight trembling running through his slender frame, just like the strings of a violin under too much pressure, and for a moment he wondered why. He noticed Potter sitting up a bit straighter, wincing at the movement that seemed to cause pain to him, and he narrowed his eyes at the brat.

He noticed Glen Cunningham lifting his hand.

"Yes, Glen?" He asked, shuddering inwardly at the use of the boy's given name. He wasn't used to address his students with their given names. He was used to address them with their surnames, to have at least that bit of distance between them and himself. Well, it was usual here to use the student's given names, and he would do so. At least as long as they were not in trouble, then he could resort to using their surnames.

"The imperious, sir." Cunningham answered and he nodded his head.

"What does it do?" He asked.

"Well, it makes people do things the caster want them doing even if they don't want doing them." Glen said.

"Exactly. When has it been invented?" Snape then asked.

"I don't know, sir." Glen answered this time, while blinking his eyes. Of course the boy didn't know. There were not many people who knew the history of the unforgivables.

"The imperious had been invented in the year 1714 by Craig Charge. It is forbidden by the ministry of magic and an unforgivable in England since 1943, in the States since 1947 and in most other countries since between 1949 and 1951 because it has been misused by some dark wizards. Originally it has been invented for medical treatment, as strange as it might sound to you, gentlemen." Snape rounded his desk, knowing that he had the attention of all the students. He knew that this was stuff rarely taught.

"It originally had been invented for cases when patients that needed medical care, for example mental treatment, in dire situation like for example if they were in danger of suicide, to simply force them to partake in the mental treatment. It rarely had been used with a full forced spell, but used only carefully, partially, so the patients still had complete control over themselves but felt it easier to partake in their treatments, to make them more at ease while speaking about their innermost troubles, similar to some of the truth serums nowadays used in some mental wards. Some dark wizards however like Tome Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters used this particular spell to force other wizards to follow him and his orders. What other unforgivables are there? Marc?"

"There is the killing curse." The boy answered.

"Which is called?" Snape asked.

He noticed the boy going pale and he pushed himself off his desk, stood in front of the boy's table, fixing the boy with his dark eyes. He knew that the boy's brother had been killed with the killing curse, but he wouldn't allow the boy to back down. He however had to wait a few seconds until Marc gave him an answer, a nervous one.

"It's called the … the avada kedavra." The boy answered hesitantly.

"Correct." He said, still fixing the boy with his stare. "You have gained yourself five points, Mr. Connor."

With a flick of his wand he had a parchment pinned at the wall beside the door and the name Marc Connor appeared with the word 'five' accompanying it.

"However, the original avada kedavra curse had not been invented to simply kill someone. This curse too had been invented for medical use, in the year 1407, and it had been invented to release someone from pain in a situation where nothing else helped and a slow and painful death would be sure. Or for hunters to use on deer for a quick and painless death. It had been banned by the ministries around the same time as had been the imperious because it had been misused by some dark wizards. The third unforgivable is?"

He looked around into the faces of the students. Most of them showed curiosity, some seemed unable to believe the information, some were even shocked, but all of them were definitely interested. A few hands were held up and he was just about to call on one of the trio consisting of Brian, Sam and Terry, when he noticed Potter.

The boy's face had gone as pale as he never would have thought possible, his hands shook more than they had during the past few days and the green eyes suddenly expressed pain. Pain from a memory only, but – well, suddenly Snape had his answer. Yes, Potter had been subjected to the cruciatus and yes, there from came the nerve damage he had seen signs of in the boy's twitching arms and hands, his fingers.

But when? And where? And by whom? Damn!

"Mr. Potter?" He called on the boy while walking over to the boy's desk.

It took a few seconds until Potter's mind seemed to be present in the classroom again and then the boy looked up at him and he had to keep up his occlumency shields to not retreat upon the amount of distant pain he could sense in the entire boy's existence. He simply waited, ignoring the scary silence in the classroom, ignoring the other student's gazes and simply waited, just as he had waited until Marc Connor had given him his answer. He just fixed his eyes on Potter and waited. Then -

"It's the cruciatus." The boy finally answered in his rough whisper, just before his eyes went distant again. "The incantation is crucio, and it simply causes pain. It mostly is used for a time span between thirty seconds and a minute. Using it longer upon a person can drive said person into madness, like Frank and Alice Longbottom who had been Aurors. It had been Bellatrix Lestrange who had used the cruciatus on them and they are in St. Mungos now. Its use promises a lifelong stay in Azkaban. It is a curse that is favored by uncle Voldie and his Death Eaters. I guess it had been forbidden because of them too, even if I cannot think of anything good it once might have been invented for."

Snape stood there for a moment longer, watching the boy closely. His eyes still were distant, looked on a point somewhere far away and probably only seen by the boy in his mind. It was the longest and most extensive answer he had gotten from the boy since the end of last term. Well, since ever, he guessed. But again the boy's words and behavior startled him. It was as if Potter knew exactly what he was speaking of. What he probably was, he thought. He would have to have a word with the brat and he would have to supply him with a nerve regeneration potion if his fears were true.

If it wasn't too late already. A week normally, two weeks at the most, but between this time span the nerve regeneration potion should be given or it would be difficult for the potion to work properly. After a month it would take a very long time for the nerves to regenerate themselves and after two or three months, it wouldn't work at all anymore, depending on the amount of damage inflict on the nerves in the first place.

"That is correct, Mr. Potter." He quietly said. "You too have gained yourself five points."

Another flick of his wand had Potter's name appeared at the parchment he had attached to the wall beside the door, accompanied by the word 'five', just as he had done with Connor's name before. Potter however didn't even seem to notice.

"It however actually _had_ been invented for medical treatment also, in the year 1771 and in this case, to give a short impulse to the nerves of a patient. It had been invented to be used for a second, two at the most. Used on an un-responding patient, it would send a short shock through the system to get the person back, a heart that stopped beating, would get an impulse, just like the muggles do with electric devices, and a patient that had nerve damage after an accident could be treated with such short impulses to get the nerves back to working as they should. Used without responsibility however, in other words, longer than a second or two, would cause the contraire effect, the nerves would be damaged. And that for – yes, as Mr. Potter said, it has been banned after the misuse from some dark wizards and Death Eaters by the ministries of magic."

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**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_Music and a shock for the Potions Master__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	9. a guitar and a grave

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

But … *stucks out tongue in a childish act of silliness* … I _do_ own Wohehiv … he is all _mine_!

**Rating: **

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"It however actually has been invented for medical treatments also, in the year 1771 and in this case, to give a short impulse to the nerves of a patient. It had been invented to be used for a second, two at the most. Used on an un-responding patient, it would send a short shock through the system to get the person back, a heart that stopped beating, would get an impulse, just like the muggles do with electric devices, and a patient that had nerve damage after an accident could be treated with such short impulses to get the nerves back to working as they should. Used without responsibility however, in other words, longer than two or three seconds, would cause the contraire effect, the nerves would be damaged. And that for – yes, as Mr. Potter said, it has been banned after the misuse from some dark wizards and Death Eaters by the ministries of magic." _

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****nine**

**A guitar and a ****grave**

Once again he found Potter in a bathroom, near the dining hall this time, again splashing cold water at his face as if he could wash his memories of pain away with it. But he knew all too well that it wouldn't be possible. The memories of torture always would be there. They would fade into the background with time, but not as long as the nerve damage was there.

He was used to seeing pain, and he was used to dealing with pain, but seeing it on one so young, the remaining effects of the cruciatus, it just disturbed him. No one should be subjected to being tortured with the cruciatus, and especially no one as young as Potter. Again he wondered _when_ the boy had been subjected to that blasted curse, and where, and by whom, but again he had no answer to that question. He thought, and not for the first time, maybe at the graveyard, but Dumbledore had ensured him that Poppy had found nothing except a small cut on the boy's arm after examining him.

Harry looked up and found Snape's reflection in the mirror – again. Why was it that Snape always stood behind him, watching him from there in a mirror? He reminded himself that in future he simply should avoid the common bathrooms, that he should visit the bathroom in their house only where he could lock the door.

Well, he knew what Snape would ask. But he simply wasn't able to deal with it right now. He was in too much pain and he was too tired. Two classes and lunch had tired him out and he would like nothing else than laying down and sleeping for the next few hours, preferably until tomorrow morning. But he couldn't. He still had ancient runes, a subject he didn't even know what it was about.

"I don't want to talk about it." He simply stated in his usual rough whisper, hating himself for his weak voice, but his head still ached as if it would split in two and whenever he closed his eyes flashes of nightmares appeared before him, his nightmares always getting worse now. He saw them during daytime now as well, while he was awake too now.

He however soon had forgotten that Snape was still standing there until a hand touched his shoulder and another held out a potion vial to him.

"It will ease your headache Mr. Potter." Was all the man said as he waited for the boy to drink the potion before he took the vial back and pocketed it, his black eyes looking over the younger boy as he stood there letting his hand fall back to his side tiredly.

"Thank you, sir." Was all Potter whispered and he accepted it, for now. For a moment he had considered confronting the boy right now, while he had him here, but then he had dismissed the thought, knowing that Potter still had a class ahead of him. He would talk to the boy later, this evening.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Harry knew that he would have more than half an hour until the meeting in the basement where they would have their music class, but nevertheless he slipped into the room, leaving the door ajar. He simply needed some time to sort himself out until then. It would be a class held by Snape and he simply didn't know what would await him.

Snape's way of teaching history had been not so bad, he had to admit, but right now Snape didn't _any_ make sense to him and right now he didn't know what to expect. And he was afraid, as he knew that Snape had questions. Questions he didn't want to answer, questions he didn't even want to think about, questions he didn't even know how he could answer them.

The room was warm, despite the fact that it was in the basement, and he looked around curiously. There were armchairs and cushioned stools standing around the room, a fire was burning in the fireplace and a piano stood in one corner while other, different music instruments were lining the walls.

He went towards a tabour and ran his fingertips over the skin that was stretched over the instrument, then he went over to the piano and hit a few of the keys, easily noticing the way the different tones were played by using different keys, and then he turned and his eyes fell onto one of the guitars that were standing at the opposite wall.

He went over and run his fingers over one, one made of bright wood in which he could see the texture running through the instrument. He carefully took the instrument from its rack and sat down onto the floor, ignoring the comfortably looking armchair and cushioned stools he could have used. He closed his eyes, and then started to play a simple melody he once had heard at the Dursleys and then had tried to replay by himself when the Dursleys had been gone for dinner or shopping.

Snape approached the music classroom in the dungeons, knowing that he had nearly half an hour, half an hour during which he once more could ensure that the instruments were tuned. And yes, even if music surely never had been his live ambition, he nevertheless was able to tune most of the instruments. Music was not a foreign subject to him and he played the piano since his earliest childhood. Something he still thanked his mother for, as it always had helped him to forget for a bit.

A soft melody came from the ajar door in front of him and for a moment he frowned. Glen, his apprentice and assistant whom he had asked to help in keeping the instruments tuned was still upstairs, so, what imbecile right now had the audacity to play without his permission down here? But then – the tunes didn't sound as if an imbecile was at work and quietly he shoved the door open.

Potter.

Again Potter!

Why was it always Potter he found in such situations? In a bathroom splashing cold water onto his face? In a classroom, sitting in the back as far away from the others as possible? In the music workroom, alone, playing an instrument and in such a sad way no less?

The boy was sitting at the floor, his back turned to him, Snape, and he was just about to approach the brat and to reprimand him for using the music room without even asking for permission when the boy started to sing. Softly, not in his rough whisper, but softly and he automatically stopped.

I walk along the way – I knew I had to pay  
the path I walk along – I never had it gone  
the trees are soothing me – I'll plant you such a tree  
I hope you're happy here – I know you have been ere

I know you're sleeping now – I'm that for walking slow  
I do not want to wake – you, for your sleep's sake  
I hope your dreams are well – I know I cannot dwell  
I'll have to leave again – I hope there will be rain

Silently sitting down into one of the armchairs in a corner of the room he leaned back and listened, his head tilted to the right a bit. Well, he had thought that the boy had talent when it came to his sketches, that he therefore would chose the drawing class, but he now learned that he had been wrong. If he was right, then the boy would fit well into a music class.

But I want to be with you – I'd known I'd live my life to rue  
So many years - had come along with fears – and thousand tears

Whatever it had been with his sketches, the boy definitely had a talent when it came to music. The soft voice and the soft tunes of the guitar easily calming his anger he'd had before, leaving calmness and sadness only and he wondered what it was the boy was singing about.

I know you loved me once – at least a little ounce  
It has been some time – that I could call you mine  
your friends remember you – they would have seen you through  
they speak of what is lost – what they have loved the most

I brought a note to you – I do not have a clue  
if you will like to hear – I just want to be near  
I brought a candle too – but cannot handle though  
the burning of the flame – I know I am to blame

He frowned. He couldn't see the boy's face, but in his voice he could hear such a deep sadness, longing and desperation that made his own chest clench. It was clear to him now that he was singing about a person that had died, which's grave he was visiting and he wondered whose it might be.

But I want to be with you – I'd known I'd live my life to rue  
So many years - had come along with fears – and thousand tears

Maybe the … maybe Black's? For some reason he right now couldn't bring himself to even think the word 'mutt'. Not with the boy's voice so desperate and hurting. It was clearer than ever that he blamed himself for Black's death and he wondered what he could do about it. And that he had to do something about it, that much was clear, even to him, never mind what kind of bastard he was.

This place is full of peace – I want to add a piece  
So I'll give my heart – to this dot of earth  
I'll kneel beside your bed – with thousand tears to shed  
A prayer on my lip – I hope it reaches your ship

I know I have no right – in this candle's light  
To ask so much of you – ask if you loved me too  
You left to safe my life – I know it is not right  
You left to keep me safe – I'd never be so brave

Lily!

That was all he could think for a second or two and even if Black too had died to save the boy's life, he somehow _knew_ that this was not about Black, that it was about Lily, about the boy's mother dying to keep him safe. But … Merlin!

Did the boy really …

But if the boy meant Lily, then this wasn't an already existent song, then it was one the boy had written! But how was a child of just fifteen years able to …

But I want to be with you – I'd known I'd live my life to rue  
So many years - had come along with fears – and thousand tears

Did the boy really blame himself for his mother's death too? He had been a year old back then. He'd had no control over what had happened back then. It had not been his fault. Not that Black's death or Diggory's death for that matter had been his fault. But the boy had been a year old only, for Merlin's sake! He had been a toddler! He couldn't have done anything!

I walk along the path – why you went to death  
I'll never have a clue – I want to visit you  
This grave is soothing me – I don't know if you see  
There is no other place – to cry and keep my grace

But I want to be with you – I'd known I'd live my life to rue  
So many years - had come along with fears – and thousand tears

Here I can show my pain – here I can cry in rain  
And no one ever knows – now I am so close

The boy hitched a breath before continuing with a barely audible voice anymore, and yet – he still had it under perfect control, quietly, softly, and slightly wavering with tears and Snape was sure the boy was crying, and he gritted his teeth. It couldn't be that the boy really blamed himself for Lily's death. He simply couldn't allow the boy blaming himself for Lily's death. He …

But I want to be with you – I'd known I'd live my life to rue  
So many years – had come along with fears – and thousand tears  
One day I'll be with you – even if I've lived my life to rue  
So many years – had passed along with fears – and thousand tears

The music stopped and Snape was back in a simple room filled with music instruments again, just as suddenly as he had been pulled into a world of soft tones where a small and skinny black haired and green eyed boy slowly walked along a path towards the grave of his mother. But then …

'_the path I walk along – I never had it gone'_

Could it … it surely couldn't be that the boy never … his relatives surely had taken the child to his mother's grave! Gazing over at the boy he noticed that Potter still was sitting on the floor, his upper body bent over the instrument he still was holding in front of him, as if he intended to use it as a shield against the pain and his shoulders shook, barely noticeable, but they shook. Again, just like back in his office at Hogwarts, the boy cried silently, without making a single sound.

Quietly he got off the armchair and went over to the boy, lowering himself down onto one knee in front of the child and for a moment he just watched the pale face. As he had thought, there were tears running down the boy's pale face and he didn't seem to notice that he was there, directly in front of him. Slowly he extended his hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder. The child for once didn't even flinch, being captured too deep in his grief for being startled by the physical contact.

"Potter? Harry?" He asked, for once using the boy's given name, sensing that it was the right thing to do right now.

The boy looked up at him, his eyes getting scared for a moment before the emotional pain overtook once again, accompanied with tiredness and exhaustion.

"You never have been to your mother's grave, have you?" He softly asked. It took the boy a few moments, but then he simply shook his head.

The door opened and Glen stepped inside the room, a greeting on his lip but Snape immediately shook his head, indicating that silence right now was required. Gently he took the instrument from the boy's grip, placed it on the floor beside him, even if he wouldn't have done so normally. But right now he didn't care.

"Why don't you just go to your room and lay down, Harry?" He softly asked while extending his hand to help the boy up and as startling as it was, the child took his hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. His hand on the boy's shoulder he led him towards the door, noticing with a frown every single bone underneath his hand, even through the boy's t-shirt and the pullover he was wearing. He had been right, the boy was even thinner than he had been back then in his office. And back then he already had been starting thin.

He led him past Glen, wordlessly, out of the room and up the stairs that led to the ground floor. He led him along the corridor and then up the stairs to the first floor where they had their rooms and then to the boy's room. All the way Potter didn't say anything, not that he had expected him to do, but just let himself being led by Snape, as if he had no own will. He reached forwards, past the boy and opened the door to Potter's room, noticing that it still was the same than it had been the evening before, without being already a mess, without any personal properties at all and again he was reminded at the fact that the boy seemed to own nothing.

With a frown he led the child to the bed, gently pushed him down to sit on the comforter and with a sigh he took off the boy's shoes when he made no move doing so by his own. He gently shoved him down until his head lay on the pillow and just then, laying on his side, Potter pulled his feet up onto the bed too, pulled them close to his chest, curling into a small protective ball.

"I will be back later." Snape said, again kneeling down onto one knee, trying to catch the boy's eyes. They seemed as dulled as they had been back in Dumbledore's office and during the first two or three days upon their arrival here in Dubawnt Lake Hamleton. "Try to sleep for an hour."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Glen didn't know what was wrong. Master Severus had shaken his head when he had entered and had been about to greet, and then he had taken the guitar from Harry's hands, placed it on the floor and had led the other boy outside, apparently to his room. But he had been so gentle. And when he had been speaking to him, he had used the boy's given name this time, not 'Mr. Potter' or even 'Potter'.

The man normally seemed to be so cold and hard. He knew him for just 24 hours now, not even, but he was good at reading people and during all the time Snape had been cold, dark, snarky, severe, even harsh and hard to get at. He almost had felt the difficulties between the man and the other boy. But right now he had been so gentle.

And Harry really had looked horrible and he had been sure that the boy had been crying. Well, he placed the guitar where it belonged to and then he simply waited for the others and then he would wait with them for Master Severus coming back.

His mind elsewhere Snape went back to the basement and entered the music workroom, quietly closing the door behind him. Whereupon to the normal lessons the lower and upper grades were divided and his upper grade class held Cole Benson from the drawing class too, here he had his entire class alone.

He wordlessly crossed the room, noticing the students standing or sitting around undecidedly, and he sat down into the armchair he had been sitting in while Potter had been playing the guitar that now was back at its respectable place, he noticed. Then he just waited, watching the students, which – for the same time – watched him, unsurely, questioningly, as if to wait for him to start the class. He leaned back and crossed his legs, and still waited.

"Uhm … sir …?" Glen finally asked, unsurely.

"Yes, Glen?" He asked back, waiting for what the boy would ask.

"Well … what … I mean, what would you want us doing?" Glen asked, hesitantly.

"What should I want you doing?" Snape asked back, confusing the boys even more. They looked at each other and then back at him.

"Can I …" Brian started, just as unsurely. "Can I take the guitar?"

"I don't know if you can, Brian." Snape answered. "But seeing that this is the music class, you may of course try."

"I do can." Brian said with a frown. "I meant, may I take it?"

"Of course you may." Snape inclined his head. Well, that had been what he had been waiting for. The boys showing some autonomy in the field they had chosen as theirs and taking over by themselves.

Brian went over to take the instrument, and he stayed in his armchair, simply watching what the others would do. Well, Glen took one of the transverse flutes while Sam and Terry took tabors. Marc and Andrew just took seats and waited. The others looked at him, Snape, expectantly, and he looked back at them, expectantly too.

For a few moments nothing happened, until Glen took the initiative and made a suggestion, what they could play, while the Potions Master simply kept his seat, listening and watching them.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_A bit of trouble on the boat._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	10. running

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_Brian went over to take the instrument, and he stayed in his armchair, simply watching what the others would do. Well, Glen took one of the transverse flutes while Sam and Terry took tabors. Marc and Andrew just took seats and waited. The others looked at him, Snape, expectantly, and he looked back at them, expectantly too. _

_For a few moments nothing happened, until Glen took the initiative and made a suggestion, what they could play, while the Potions Master simply kept his seat, listening and watching them. _

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****ten**

**Running **

He had watched them, had watched how they worked together, how they handled the music instruments, who preferred which instrument in the first place and how they handled it, if they played intuitive or if they needed a structure. Well, the trio at least were intuitive players, they didn't need much guidance and they could even swap instruments. Glen preferred the transverse flute but could play the piano as well. Marc liked to play the violin and he could lose himself in his music when playing, just like Potter had with the guitar. Andrew however was rather helpless without the guidance of a teacher and even Glen as the apprentice and his assistant didn't give him the feeling of being safe in the class when it came to practically playing a music instrument.

He had stored all information aside for the moment and then he had asked Glen to take the students to the great hall for dinner and to look after them encase he wouldn't make it in time. He had to look after Potter right now.

And so – here he was, again in front of the boy's room after knocking at the door.

The boy was sitting in the armchair, watching the dancing flames of the fire with a lost look in his eyes and he pulled the chair from the boy's desk, placed it opposite the boy and sat down too. For a while he too watched the flames before his eyes went back to the child. Potter was sitting there, his legs pulled close to his chest and his arms wrapped around them protectively.

"Why did your aunt never take you to your mother's grave?" He quietly asked, knowing that probably it was a stupid question, but maybe the boy would have an explanation to it. "She was your aunt's sister after all."

Potter looked at him, startled, as if he just now had noticed his presence in the room, but then he shook his head, indicating that he didn't know, looking back at the fire.

"If I have to summarize, then I do not really wonder why she never has." Snape couldn't help musing aloud. "You did not have proper clothing upon leaving your relatives, and those clothes you had, were atrocious and worn. You neither had a trunk, nor did you have any school supplies left. Upon looking around, I can see no personal items and you yourself appear as if you haven't eaten all summer. Sleeping, I do not even dare to mention. All in all, the word neglect is fighting its way to the forefront of my mind and so I do not wonder that your aunt never has taken the time to take you to your parents' grave. Something we should remedy, child. If you so wish, I am willing to take you to the graveyard at Godric's Hollow."

Well, if nothing had gained the boy's attention aside from blushing embarrassedly, this got him looking up at him sharply and with a gaze that bordered on longing and pleading.

"So be it." Snape then continued. "Not now, however. Right now, I wonder what else has been going on in this household, because neglect to such an extent rarely comes alone."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

The first thought that ran though Harry's mind was to run … but he knew he would not get too far, even if he _did_ have the advantage over his Professor in finding hiding places as he was rather good at hiding, having learned that during years of hiding from Dudley. The problem was that he had to try and get past the man who was now blocking the only exit and he knew that would almost be impossible.

He wasn't neglected and he wasn't … absolutely not!

And Snape simply couldn't find out about anything else than he already knew. Snape had found out already too much! And why did Snape care anyway! Snape hated him!

He looked at his shoes, then back at the fire, anywhere but where Snape sat, concerned and wanting only to help. And Harry _knew_ that he actually wanted to help, as strange as it might seem to him right now. But he didn't need help, he was beyond help, he couldn't be helped, he didn't want help.

He just wanted to die. And to learn as much as possible before that, so he would be able to take Voldemort with him.

"Do at least show me the courtesy of looking at me if I speak to you, you insolent child!" Snape growled darkly, immediately regretting his harsh tone when he noticed that the boy flinched violently.

Harry, on reflex and instinct, cringed at the tone his professor used. The same tone his uncle used when he was about to beat the living shit out of him, and because of that he simply stiffened and could not bring himself to move just an inch.

Nothing in his life could have prepared Snape for the sight he saw when he looked at the boy, into his eyes. Potter had his mind open widely and Snape simply couldn't bring up his shields quickly enough before somehow the boy had pulled him into his own mind, without being aware of what he was doing, he was sure of that.

He knew that he should be very careful when brushing the mind of one so young, a reason why he rarely entered his Slytherins' minds completely but only brushed over their minds, searching for lies or their emotions only rather than for complete memories. But finding out more about Potter, finding out _that_ which the boy surely wouldn't tell him by free will, it was just too tempting and so, he didn't put too much effort in getting up his shields quickly enough before the boy could show him his memories.

Yet, he wished he had.

_A small__, thin and dirty boy was lying beside a just as small, flimsy and dirty mattress, covered in ripped clothes and bruises on his face. There seemed to be a weird angle to him and Snape thought he must have broken at least one of his legs and an arm._

_Slowly, __the boy in the memory rolled onto his side and gasped from the sudden pain the movement seemed to cause. He glanced at himself and hissed softly when he seemed to notice his ripped t-shirt and Jeans. He glanced down and he could see the boy's gaze falling onto his leg which he was dragging along an old and soiled wooden-boarded floor, but – where any other child would have been shocked and horrified, he simply seemed to ignore it, probably knowing that it wouldn't help things if he got into a panic over a broken leg. He wouldn't be able to change the fact anyway._

_He watched the boy painfully slowly dragging himself onto the old children's mattress and wincing at the pain some of his movements seemed to cause. The boy's next words however shocked him more than he dared to admit. _

_"I'll heal." He heard a much smaller Potter, one he remembered from first or second year, quietly muttering to himself. "I always do."_

He pulled himself out of the boy's mind and for a moment he wasn't sure if he would be able to keep his composure.

How could anyone treat another human being, a helpless and small child like that? His own father had been harsh, but he never had been beaten like this and he had been loved by his mother and his grandparents. And the house elves always had brought him snacks and drinks even if his father had banned him from the table for some reason or another.

Snape dropped his head into his hands for a moment, his temples throbbing with the pain of forced legillimens and then he looked through the cascade of dark hair hanging in front of his eyes to see how the boy was doing.

Harry sat white faced and trembling in the armchair, tracks from his tears clearly visible as he tried to force himself to calm down after the onslaught of memories. He had his fists clenched in the soft sheepskin underneath him.

Snape shook his head, finally feeling guilty at what he had done to a defenceless child over the years, one who had apparently had a life filled with horror and pain already, even without him making his life at Hogwarts a living hell. How was he ever going to make it up to the boy? Lily would have skinned him alive for the way he had treated her son all these years. And how had Albus not known what had been going on in that house? How had he noticed nothing when he had taken the boy from his relatives last month? Why didn't even the muggle authorities remove him? Surely one or another of the boy's previous teachers or the neighbours must have noticed something?

He shook himself again and stood up to go and check on the boy he had just assaulted with being insolent when the boy apparently only had been trying to avoid his gaze, too ashamed of himself for looking at him, and his mind ran a mile a second while he vowed to himself that somehow he would make it up to the boy for his previous treatment, knowing that he simply had to.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

The child, he noticed, was on the verge of a total mental breakdown, fighting not to cry in front of him, Snape, who was now leaning close towards him, piercing him with his black eyes.

Harry could feel the man watching him, his beady black eyes seeming to drill through him even though he had his eyes clamped shut and couldn't actually see what the man was doing now. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed the man to see? And now he _was_ sure that Snape had seen, that Snape had seen exactly what he himself had seen. And now he knew that the times before, when he had thought that Snape had seen his thoughts, or his memories, or whatever it was, he had been right. Snape _had_ seen!

But why in Merlin's name had he allowed him to see now? It wouldn't change anything anyway. It only had gone worse since returning to his own personal hell anyway. He often had glanced towards his reflection in a mirror upon being back at Hogwarts before quickly glancing away, hardly recognizing himself anymore. So what had driven him to show Snape now? It had been stupid, really. The only thing that would change now was, that Snape would have one more reason to turn on him.

He still felt Snape's eyes on him and he knew that the older man was getting suspicious. He needed an excuse, and a good one, one that would explain the memory the man had seen as a dream maybe. But somehow he knew that it wouldn't work, not with Snape, and as his panic increased … so did his desperation.

With one fluid movement he quickly got off the armchair he was sitting in, ran across the room, passing Snape, and then he threw open the door, not minding the pain his sudden movement caused, not minding the startled look on the Potions Master's face and not minding the door that slammed against the wall and he simply ran along the corridor and down the stairs.

Harry ran until he was completely out of breath. He hadn't watched where he was running to and he had absolutely no idea where he was when he finally stopped. But he didn't care anyway while images of his aunt and uncle were flying through his mind. Uncle Vernon screaming at him because he had burned the bacon, aunt Petunia beating Harry on the back with the frying pan, hot oil burning his skin, uncle Vernon beating him with a belt, pushing him up against a wall, telling him he was worthless and stupid and a freak that deserved to be beaten, that deserved to die.

He fell to the ground, scrambled towards the nearest wall, and pulling his hair he screwed up his face, trying to get the images out of his mind but they just wouldn't go away.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Stupid, really, chasing Potter down - the boy was too drowned in idiocy at the moment to see reason, especially from him.

But then – no, he knew that the boy was not drowned in idiocy. It was fear, he was drowned in, pure and simple and primal fear and he simply would have to find the boy before he would do something stupid, never mind if he liked chasing after the boy, searching for the boy, or not. It would just have to be done.

The much more difficult part would be getting Potter calm. If he wanted him calm, that was. The boy would be upset the moment he would order him to undress anyway and he knew that the boy would fight teeth and nails with him. Well, he would be able to handle it. He had suffered a lot worse throughout his duty as a head of a house like Slytherin.

The calm before the boy's storm would come when it came.

He himself calmed down the moment he got up and left Potter's room and while he calmed down, he tried to shove back the guilt that made its presence known when he recalled all those words he had spoken to the boy over the years. He realised too late that all those words had been the worst things he could have said to a teenager in Potter's case, being neglected and abused, and nothing else it was - especially if said teenager already showed signs of blaming himself wholeheartedly for his classmate's and for his godfather's death. Not to mention for his parent's death, as he just earlier this afternoon had learned.

Following the boy's tracks he reached the ground floor and seeing the front door open he knew that the boy just had left the house. He placed his wand onto his outstretched palm and upon a softly muttered "point me Potter" the magical device turned on his flat palm, stopped when pointing at the main building. With a sigh he walked into the direction of the school.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Wohehiv only had a second to get out of the way the moment Harry nearly ran into him, passed him full speed without noticing him even and he turned around on the spot, looking after the boy that seemed upset before following the child. He didn't know if Severus knew that his student was upset, nor what had caused him to be upset in the first place, but he simply couldn't leave the child alone in his grief, whatever grief it was he was in.

He was a strange child, Harry. Always so quiet, but if he said something, then it had a meaning deeper than just the colour of the sky outside. And yes – he had heard from the boy's comment in his first potions class, Manuel had told the story during their first staff meeting shortly after lunch, before the first afternoon classes. And Terry, Brian and Sam had talked about the boy's comment during history, explaining the cruciatus and its effects. And he had asked Glen where Severus and the boy were during dinner and the boy had told him what had happened just before their music class and that he was to bring the others to dinner.

Quick footsteps from behind caused him to turn and he saw the Potions Master heading towards him, apparently heading after Harry and he stopped, waiting for the man to catch up to him.

"Your wayward student is heading towards your previous guest quarters, Severus." He said the moment the man was reaching him, not halting in his steps nor even slowing down, and he fell in step with him.

"I know." Snape sighed, just before finally stopping for a moment. "Do you have experience with abused students, Wohehiv?" He asked, turning towards the healer and piercing the Indian with his dark eyes.

"I have to admit, no, Severus." The other wizard admitted. "In my tribe, in _most_ tribes, children are cherished. They are cared for and they are kept safe and healthy."

"I ask a favour of you, Wohehiv." The Potions Master then said. "I ask you to let me handle the situation, whatever the situation might be. I am not sure of it yet by myself, but I do think it is not only neglect as I have feared up to now, but abuse too and I – regrettably – _do_ know how to handle abused children. My former house has been filled with them. I won't harm him, even if I might seem harsh."

Wohehiv looked at him for a moment before simply inclining his head.

"Nothing else I would have done anyway, Severus." He then said. "The child is your charge and I do trust you with him."

Snape gave a short nod too before he continued walking down the corridor. He had a lot to think about and very little time in which to get those thoughts in order. He had to be calm, cool, and collected to speak with the troubled child behind the door that would lead into their previous guest quarters. He would have to have a clear head and he would have to be ready for any reaction, and he would have to be ready to react with calmness, patience, and understanding, at least in the end.

He knew that it wouldn't work until he had Potter where he wanted him, a fact he didn't like, a fact he never liked, with no child, but he knew that it simply had to be done until he had gotten the boy to see that he already knew and that he neither would blame him for it, nor that he would hold it against him.

So, upon reaching the door he placed his hand on the handle and after waiting a second he simply opened the door that now, without being inhabited, held no password anymore. He stepped into the room and looked around the dark space before lightening the candles and torches with a quiet "inflamare" that would engulf the room into a soft light.

There was however no sign of Potter anywhere in the living space and Snape went over to the room the boy had occupied during the first few days they had been here. Again there was no sign of the boy and he frowned. Well, he could search for hours, if he wanted, or he simply could provoke a reaction. He picked the second way that would be much quicker.

"Potter!" He growled darkly and loud enough for the boy to hear him wherever in the room he was, and he was sure that he _was_ in here. "So help me, Merlin, if you are ignoring me -"

Well, he had been right and he allowed a small smirk crossing his face for a second when he heard it – a small intake of breath, barely audible but he knew the sound was coming from the right hand corner of the room – and he frowned, casting a quirked eyebrow at Wohehiv standing in a corner, simply watching. It came from the cupboard.

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His head was throbbing painfully and his heart was pounding in his chest while his lungs didn't seem to get enough air into them ever again. He curled into an even smaller ball, the fingers of his hands grasping his hair tightly and he was holding back strangled sobs while he was reliving one particular painful beating in his mind. He didn't even remember what for, it just hurt too much.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he quickly flinched away, tried to crawl into the corner of the cupboard he had tried to hide in from his uncle. But the hand on his shoulder didn't beat him, didn't bring pain, didn't move aside from just laying there in a firm grip and when he finally opened his eyes he found himself looking in to the dark eyes of Severus Snape.

But then he suddenly found himself lifted off the ground by his upper arms and he automatically began struggling, trying to twist out of his attacker's grip.

Severus Snape reached out and placed his hand onto Potter's shoulder, watching him screwing his eyes shut tightly in expectation of what he thought might be a blow. He waited a moment until he could be sure that the teen had been calmed a bit, had opened his eyes to look at him, recognizing him, and then he took the boy by his upper arms and pulled him up until he could lift him out of the cupboard.

Potter immediately started struggling and he sighed.

"Stop that, Potter." Snape growled darkly, shaking the boy slightly.

Potter immediately _did_ stop struggling and hung limp until he lowered him to he ground.

He placed him onto his feet on the ground, frowning at how effortlessly he had managed to lift the boy in the first place, and then looked down his nose at the child in front of him.

"Undress, Mr. Potter." He simply ordered. He knew from enough experience with his Slytherins that beating around the bush only would get them nervous. The less time they had to think about it, the better.

Not so Potter however, as it seemed.

The boy actually lifted his hands for a moment to grasp the hem of his t-shirt as if to lift it over his head, but then he let his hands fall back to his side and took a step backwards, away from him, looking at him with an incredulous gaze in his eyes, shaking his head.

Bracing himself for the next fight he knew would come, Snape stood a bit straighter, trying to display a mixture of strength and yet care, of demand and yet understanding, but making sure that the boy would have no way of fleeing him again.

"Now you listen to me, Potter." He said darkly. "I will not hurt you, child. I only want to have a closer look on your body and any possible injuries. You will have two choices, and two choices only. You either will undress freely and by yourself, or I will do so. The choice is yours, but you _will_ be undressed in the end."

Potter still shook his head, the incredulous look on his face becoming a panicked one and he took another step back again, away from him. Snape simply kept his place, calmly looking back at the child, again noticing how small the boy was. He simply waited a second, still watching the boy, waited a few seconds longer, his eyes never leaving the child's eyes, fixing them, but then he gave an inward sigh.

Some children obeyed his order to undress, their fear of his punishment if they didn't too overwhelming. Some children didn't obey him, their fear of their parents, or in Potter's case of his aunt and uncle, too overwhelming. Potter seemed to be the second case. The fear of his relatives too much, the fear they could find out that he had told someone, and it was the worse case, he knew. If the children feared _him_, Snape, beating them if they didn't obey, he could remedy that soon enough while talking to them, while promising them that he wouldn't and while keeping his promise, while proving to them that he _indeed_ wouldn't beat them, never.

But a child that feared his father – or his relatives – to such an extent, he couldn't do anything about _that_. Not anytime soon anyway. He couldn't take this kind of fear away from them with just promising he never would beat them. He couldn't take this kind of fear away from them with just talking to them, with just comforting them. He couldn't take this kind of fear away from them without their parents or relatives being arrested and those children themselves being finally safe.

Wordlessly, like he always did, and without making a fuss he just stepped towards the boy and placing his hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip so the boy wouldn't flee, he turned Potter to his side so that he could push up his t-shirt, to expose any welts that might be on the child's upper body, he grabbed the hem to the boy's t-shirt.

Potter, just as most of the children, didn't react at first, as if he were frozen with shock, and simply allowed him to pull the t-shirt over his head and just his eyes widened in pure terror the moment Snape's eyes fell onto a chest that was a sight out of a horror movie, thin, startling thin, so thin he could count each and every rib that stick out, a chest that was covered in bruises and cuts in every shapes and forms possible, at arms that stuck out like thin twigs, every bone and tendon visible and covered in the same bruises and cuts too.

Snape gritted his teeth in order to not show his shock, his horror or any else emotions and wordlessly grabbed the boy's wrists instead, checking them for cuts or other self inflicted injuries. He found none and satisfied he gave a curt nod. At least the boy wasn't suicidal, that at least meant something.

Without turning the boy to look at his back he simply lowered his hands and opened the boy's Jeans, knowing that this was the next critical moment.

Of course he could give the child a bit time to think, to recover from his first shock of being undressed by his teacher, in turning him and inspecting his back. But he knew that it wouldn't do any good to him, that thinking would only cause the – for the child as well as for him – horrible scene to be longer. Better to make a painful break than to draw out the pain. And that it was pain – horrible emotional pain – that he knew.

Potter however, just as he knew he would, tried to fight him, horror and panic still written all over his face and he tried to break away from him, tried to get away from him, again shaking his head.

"That will be quite enough." The irate Potions Master said sternly and had Potter's back pressed against his chest in one fluid motion. He restrained first Harry's right arm crossed over his chest so that he could hold it in place with his upper arm and elbow and then he drew Harry's left arm close to do the same with this one until he had the boy in a safe grip.

He had to grit his teeth when the still desperately struggling child in his grip whispered a painfully rough and pleading "No, stop it, Professor, let me go, please!"

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"No, stop it, Professor, let me go, please!" Harry whispered desperately. He felt tears sliding down his cheeks. His weak struggling was useless because Snape knew exactly how to hold him, and Harry didn't even know if he wanted to get out of Snape's arms any longer. Snape seeing his beaten body, seeing what his uncle had inflicted on him, seeing how bad he was to deserve all his punishments, seeing his ugly body was a horrified thought, a dreadful thought, but honestly, on the other hand - being encircled by Snape's arms right now made him feel safe and warm, made him feel protected, and if Snape now knew, if one single person knew, it felt as if he wouldn't have to go through all of this alone from now on.

But what if Snape saw his freakishness, his badness, his … what if Snape saw that his uncle had been right in punishing him all the time and what if …

"I'm sorry, Professor! Really!" He couldn't help crying, but he didn't think there would be a great chance that Snape _wouldn't_ beat him just because he apologized – but he simply _had_ to try it. "I won't do it again. Please don't beat me." His Jeans were already lowered now and he knew that his briefs would follow soon, that he soon would stand completely naked in front of the man.

Snape just went to shift the boy again so he could pull down his briefs too, but he stopped immediately when he heard Harry's pleads, sighing inwardly. It wasn't a plea he heard for the first time, but nevertheless he couldn't say that he was used to it, or that he liked it. He liked to frighten the students, yes, but not to such an extent, not in such a way, not with the threat of violence. Placing one hand at Harry's forehead he drew the boy's head close to his chest, securing it there so he could be sure the boy would listen to him.

"Hush, child! I am not going to beat you, Harry." He quietly said, calmly, despite what he felt inwardly, using the boy's given name for once – again. "I am just going to have a closer look at your injuries like I said before. I am not going to hurt you, I promise, I won't harm you."

Harry meanwhile had given up, knowing that he wouldn't be able to flee Snape's strong grip anyway – he never had, not back at the end of last year, and he wouldn't now either. He hadn't managed to flee the man's arms back at Hogwarts after Sirius had died, when Snape had brought him away, and he knew he wouldn't manage now either. The man simply was too strong for him, even if he didn't look particular muscular, he definitely _was_ strong. And the man simply wasn't ready to give up on him. He hadn't given up on him back then and he knew he wouldn't give up on him now either. Where others would simply let him go and abandon him, Snape wouldn't, he suddenly realized. Snape was there, holding him so he wouldn't fall into a dark abyss, whispering calm words into his ear so he wouldn't drown in his fear and panic.

Never mind how much he fought against the man, the man wouldn't abandon him, wouldn't let him go, the man took the time and the man went through the trouble to be there with him, never mind what and suddenly he realized that this man he had feared and disliked, maybe was the only adult he really could trust, could count on, not only with his life but with his heart and mind too. Snape wouldn't abandon him. Snape would be there for him. Snape actually cared for him.

And nevertheless, when he felt Snape's finger at the waistband of his briefs, he couldn't stop himself from trying to flinch away, not wanting to feel the pain, not wanting to feel the embarrassment and not wanting to be completely naked in front of the man. But Snape already must have calculated this, because he quickly bent Harry's upper body by encircling his back with his left arm and now Harry's side was fixed on Snape's front while he felt Snape lowering his briefs in one fluid motion.

He took a sharp intake of breath and held it to keep himself from crying out in pain first because of Snape's arm that was pressing on the welts on his back and then because of the fabric of his briefs being moved away from the still half open welts on his privates. He could feel his face becoming a mixture of paleness with shock and redness with embarrassment at the same time, and he couldn't help cringing at the thought of what Snape must think now.

Snape however didn't think anything, aside from the fact that he wished to try each and every painful curse he knew on the monsters that were the boy's relatives. He had known that the boy had been neglected, and upon this afternoon he had been sure that the boy had been abused too, but _what_ he had discovered right now, was more than he ever had thought possible.

He looked into the boy's face and was shocked. The thin and pale face was twisted in pain, but there wasn't a single tear in his eyes, not anymore, and there hadn't been a single noise from him either, the boy still had not made a sound, and to make someone like this, to make someone so they never shed a tear or cried out, Snape knew all too well that it took years to make someone like that. And he knew very well that mostly there would be no going back, no way to get undone what had been taught, no way to relearn what had been lost. He just hoped it wasn't too late for that child. Potter was still young.

And yet – he knew that the child would not manage this without his help.

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**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_The Cheyenne Healer and the Potions Master__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	11. Wohehiv and Severus

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house … or rather snow, as there will be a lot of it in this story …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**

Story contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_He looked into the boy's face and was shocked. The thin and pale face was twisted in pain, but there wasn't a single tear in his eyes, there hadn't been a single noise from him__ either, the boy still had not made a sound, and to make someone like this, to make someone so they never shed a tear or cried out, Snape knew all too well that it took years to make someone like that. And he knew very well that mostly there would be no going back, no way to get undone what had been taught, no way to relearn what had been lost. He just hoped it wasn't too late for that child. Potter was still young._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****eleven**

**Wohehiv and Severus**

'_étšêhe'kéhahe oha__ékoóhtahe, étâhketa naa__étóhkona'he.'_ _/he's young but he's tiny, he's small and he is skinny./ _Wohehiv thought while he watched Harry standing in front of Severus, noticing again how small the boy seemed in front of the Potions Master though he was fifteen already, a thought that crossed his mind not for the first time.

'_ée'tóhtahe, ée'hóho__, _vovéstomósanéhe_.'__ /he's frightened, he is scared of him, his teacher./_

Wohehiv watched the man handling the situation, just as he had promised to the Potions Master, but he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from shouting out in frustration and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep himself from taking hold of either Severus or the boy.

Well, he simply kept his promise because – yes, the harsh way Severus handled the situation with was painful to watch, but he also knew that if the other wizard had experience in handling abused children, like he had said, then he probably had worked out the best way to handle them – quickly and firmly. He also could see that the man _did_ seem to know what he did, his movements sure and his grip on the boy showed that he had some practice with such things. And the third thing he noticed was, that the man didn't like what he was doing, that he only did it because it had to be done.

And he too knew that it had to be done. The abuse the child had been through was more serious than just a bit of physical violence, he knew, recognizing the signs of mental trauma he had seen during the boy's escape as well. The child needed someone to help fixing him – and not only physically, but mentally as well. The boy needed this dark and tough man, Severus, to fix him, even if he yet did not recognize it, and Wohehiv prayed to Merlin that it was possible, that the man would manage. But watching him handling the situation, he knew – if someone managed, then Severus would.

'_éoto'xovahe, ésáaonéhamó'ánehe.'_ _/he is skilled, he doesn't beat around the bush./ _He couldn't help thinking when Severus addressed the child bluntly. _'évovóhponahe oha émásetsêstahe.' /he's strict but he is friendly./_

"Now you listen to me, Potter." He heard his colleague saying and he sighed. He was sure he knew what the man would say. "I won't hurt you, Potter. I only want to have a closer look on your body and any possible injuries. You will have two choices, and two choices only. You will undress freely and by yourself, or I will do so. The choice is yours, but you _will_ be undressed in the end."

Yes, he had been right.

He watched the child retreating a step, shaking his head in horror and he watched Severus calmly keeping his place while watching him carefully, his eyes narrowed and it was at this moment Wohehiv knew that he had been right in trusting the always so dark and composed man. The way Severus watched the child, the way he didn't panic himself, the way he just went on in his ways of acting, calm and collected, having the situation under control, and with a mixture of strictness and gentleness. Demanding to be obeyed – yet giving the child some time to do as he had asked of him by himself and then just walking over, wordlessly, calmly and without a fuss starting to undress the child when it was clear that the boy wouldn't. And nevertheless he could see that Severus didn't like what he was doing.

_'éóétsétáno oha éována'xaetäno naa éoéhnovahe.'_ _/he's worried __but__ he is calm and he's patient./ _The young healer thought. The moment Severus had pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head and he could see the child's upper body he couldn't help hissing in shock at the sight of the skeletal and bruised body. How could any living being inflict such damage on another living being? And on a child no less? And how could Severus be so calm? So collected? So composed? How could he in a situation like that still think about logical things like checking the boy's wrist for signs of suicide? He had to admit that _he_ wouldn't be able to, that _he_ wouldn't have thought about that. Not in this moment at least.

_'éhesta'e naa éoóonêšeöhtse oha éhe'kotahe.'_ _/he is wounded and__ he is in pain but__ he's quiet./ _He noticed, wondering why the boy was so quiet even if he surely was in a great deal of pain. Not all of the injuries on the boy's upper body he could see were healed and scarred. Some of them were still fresh and even infected. How had the child been able to hide them all the time since he was here? How had the child been able to hide this amount of pain so well since he was here? And how was it that he, Wohehiv, hadn't managed to see the signs? Not all of them at least? That he had not seen how deep this child's pain went?

Well, he _had_ seen them, he had _known that_ the child had been in pain. But he had _not_ noticed that he was injured so severely. He should have known it, he should have noticed it. He would have acted, even if he knew that he normally should give the students a chance to come to him first.

'_étatóne'xove? __ékánoma'e, __háa'xóvéva__.__ é__ónêšeotse, éné'ta'e.'__ /how long has that been? it doesn't matter, for a long time.__ he is hurting, __it's the main thing./_

He watched Severus opening the child's Jeans and for a moment he was about to step in, but then he forced himself to keep his place. The child was already panicking enough and the last thing he needed would be him, Wohehiv, making a scene. And Severus had enough to do concentrating on the child without having to have to deal with him too.

Severus wouldn't harm the child and he would have to trust him, he _did_ trust him.

And the way the teacher took hold of the boy, the way he restrained him, it told him that it wasn't the first time he had to deal with such a situation, with handling and restraining children who were abused and tried to hide it, tried to fight him, tried to flee.

He heard the child's plea, and he heard the child's words, and his own body started trembling with rage while he watched Severus freezing in his movements before starting to speak to the child, his voice calm and soft.

'_éáahtomónehe,__ ka'êškóne,__ oha éhótoanáto.' __/he is not listening, the child, but it's difficult./ _He thought when he noticed the child stopping his struggling, but just seemed to give up. Well, how could one, and a child no less, concentrate on listening when being in so much fear? When feeling so much terror? And he was sure that the boy was feeling terror. The way he had been struggling against Severus at first, the way he had pleaded with the man … well, he didn't have much experience when it came to abused children, yes, but even _he_ knew that they were afraid, afraid that anyone would find out, because they feared that they only would be beaten more then, because they were ashamed, because they blamed themselves, thought they deserved it, and so – well, he really didn't want to imagine the terror the boy felt right now. And nevertheless the boy still wasn't crying. He still was quiet, he still wasn't screaming, and he still wasn't bawling.

_'éháeoestâho'he naa énémonenáotse, épóheotse.' /he was badly burned and he twisted his ankle, it is swollen./ _He noticed upon looking closer, noticing the burn marks on the child's damaged back that was covered in welts and cuts and bruises in all shapes and forms and colours, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. The moment his colleague had lowered the boy's briefs however, he couldn't help gasping in shock when he noticed the bruises on the child's privates and he hissed in anger, anger that wasn't directed at the child but the child's elders. How could they!

And still Severus had the situation under control, he noticed, but it was time to get the child to the medical wing. He didn't have anything he needed here, and finally his own professionalism took the upper hand and he took a step closer.

He noticed the shock and the pain in the other man's eyes when he stepped closer and Severus looked up at him for a short moment, mixed with pure rage and fury, a reaction that had him startled for a moment. Not the fact that Severus _was_ angry, or that he _was_ shocked, that he _felt_ pain on the child's behalf in the first place, he felt the same after all, but the fact that he _saw_ those emotions so clearly in the man's normally so cold and emotionless eyes at all.

And yet – _still_ the man didn't show his emotions on his face but kept his cool facade in front of the child so he would not startle him, probably knowing that it was enough the child had to deal with right now, his own fears, his own pain, his own embarrassment. He didn't need his teacher's emotions to deal with added to his own right now.

Lightly touching the Potions Master on his arm from behind he passed him, giving him a questioning look, silently asking if he could take over. It was time to get the child to the medical wing finally. The man just nodded at him.

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The anger Snape felt, the rage and the fury that soared through his system threatened to choke him for a moment, it threatened to overwhelm him for a moment, but he knew that if he allowed them to take the upper hand, then he only would startle the child further, then he only would drive the boy into a full blown panic attack. The child right now needed someone who was in control of the situation, not someone who panicked and didn't know what to do himself.

But someone would pay, he promised. He would make someone pay.

So he simply held the child's thin form in a firm embrace, one of his arms wrapping his cloak protectively around the skeletal body while wondering how the child had been able to keep himself upright on those thin sticks he might call legs for so long, and his other hand cradling the child's head against his chest, his fingers gently carding through the child's unruly black mop of hair, trying to give at least _some_ comfort.

Never mind if it was Potter he right now held in his arms or any other child, never mind if it was Potter who silently was crying in his arms right now or any other child, it was a child in the first place and the child needed protection and someone who cared, someone who was there to give a bit of comfort and warmth. And Potter was his student, Potter was his charge even, and if he liked it to admit or not, he _had_ started to care about the boy. So to hell with the blasted Potter name. This here was simply Harry, his student and his charge that had been through hell, and it would stop here, he vowed.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Wohehiv softly touching his arm, gazing at him questioningly, and he nodded back at the man. He knew what the healer had asked and it was alright with him. If the child were to heal, then he would have to trust Wohehiv as well as the Indian had trusted him, Snape. So it was alright if the healer took over from here. He had managed what he had wanted anyway. He had his answer, and Potter had learned a lesson, even if he didn't know it yet.

He had learned that he, Snape, wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't beat him, wouldn't blame him, but that he would be there and that he would hold him upright, that he would be demanding and that he would not allow sidesteps, but that he would hold him and that he would be there.

He watched Wohehiv kneeling down beside him, in front of the child he still held in his arms, watching the boy with sad dark eyes for a moment, but then the other wizard sighed and slowly took off his dark brown cloak and just as slowly extended his hand.

"nenáasêstse, ka'êškóne." _/come here, child./_ Wohehiv said, and he, Snape, frowned. Well, the gesture was clear, he wanted the child to come to him. Potter however just clung even more tightly to him, shaking his head. "nenáasêstse." The healer repeated and he squeezed the child's shoulder, telling him with that small gesture that it was alright, that he could trust the other man. He wouldn't force Potter, not now, but he nevertheless would encourage him to take step for step.

Slowly the boy turned in his, Snape's, arms. He didn't go to the healer, and he didn't turn completely, but he did turn, a bit.

"hena'háanehe, ka'êškóne!" _/that's it, child!/_ The healer whispered, a sad and worried smile on his face. "vé'hoomêstse! né'áahtovêste!" _/Look at me! Listen to me!/ _"I won't harm you, Hahkethomemah. You are safe here."

He watched the man tilting his head to one side, his eyes going thoughtful and he himself couldn't help thinking of _how_ fitting the name Wohehiv had given the child was. _Little robe._ The healer probably should have given him the name _not existent robe_, for the boy indeed was so small and thin that there barely was any fabric needed to cover him.

"névááso?" _/who was that?/_ The man then asked and he wondered if he should tell him that neither he nor the boy understood his words, but then he decided against it. As throaty and as hard as the language sounded, it seemed to calm the boy. "névááhe tséoomáta'e?" _/Who has beaten you?/_

"Who did this?" Wohehiv asked, as he seemed to finally realize that the boy didn't understand him. "Who has beaten you?"

Stupid question, really, Snape thought. Asking an abused child upon finding out about the abuse who his abusers were. The boy surely wouldn't answer, not now at least. But then – Wohehiv didn't have the experience with those children as he, Snape, had. He could feel Potter stiffening in his arms, could feel the trembling of the fragile body in his arms increase and he softly ran the thumb of his hand he still had on the child's back over the bare skin, careful of the injuries on the boy's back, trying to sooth him.

"hová'âháne, he'kotoo'êstse!" _/no, be quiet!/_ The healer softly said, slowly shaking his head and holding up his hand as if to stop the child from giving an answer, as if he had realized that he wouldn't get an answer anyway, as if he realized that it hadn't been the most intelligent question in the first place.

"névé'eóxôheve! nahene'ena, naa nátaéšêhéne'enáotsé'ta. Don't say anything! I know it already, and I understand."

He slowly extended his hand further, nearly inching his way towards the boy's face and Snape watched Potter's reaction close encase the boy would go into a panic and trying to bolt from the room again.

"maáhe, ka'êškóne!"_ /go to sleep, child!/_ Wohehiv murmured, touching the root of the boy's nose, running the tips of his fingers along the spot between his eyes. "Go to sleep! You are safe here, Hahkethomemah, and we have ways to _keep_ you safe. I know that it won't be easy, but you will have to trust us. Will you try, child? maáhe! Go to sleep! epeva'e, maáhe, ka'êškóne! It is good, go to sleep, child!"

The unbelievable happened, and after Potter had stiffened within his arms, upon being touched by Wohehiv, the boy slowly relaxed and then his eyes dropped and the child's entire body slumped in his grip. The child simply had fallen asleep in his arms. He blinked at the healer in near shock. How had the man done this? Upon a simple touch? If he just would be able doing so with all his students, even with all his Slytherins, Merlin! He would have really quiet evenings! Potter really and truly slept in his arms. He didn't know if it was exhaustion in the first place, or really the Indian's words, or his touch, or maybe all three things together that had caused the child to fall asleep while standing, in his arms, but he didn't mind in the first place. Wohehiv extended his cloak and Snape removed his own cloak from the child's still naked form, allowed the other man to wrap the child into his cloak and then he simply ran his free hand behind the child's knees, keeping his other behind his back, and then he just lifted him up into his arms.

"mónêhé'še?" _/are you ready to go?/_ The man asked him and he frowned. "mónêhé'še … hetsetseha?" _/shall we go … now?/_ He knew that Wohehiv, being confronted with such a situation for the first time, was quite in shock, and he could see in the man's eyes that he _was_ in such a situation for the first time. And he knew that Wohehiv probably didn't even realise that he was speaking in his native language, that he, Snape, wouldn't understand him. And honestly, he didn't blame the man for it either.

The problem was – he simply _didn't_ understand the man's question.

"Wohehiv?" He quietly asked, trying to keep his cool exterior for a bit longer, for the Indian's sake this time.

"henova'e?" _/what?/_ Wohehiv asked back, blinked at him for a moment, and then shook his head. "I am sorry." He then said. "I fear I might have been lost for a moment."

"Understandable." Snape inclined his head, indicating that it was alright. "Shall we get Potter to the medical wing now?"

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"How are you doing this, Severus?" Wohehiv asked while they walked towards the medical wing, Wohehiv leading the way and Severus carrying the boy that was ways too shortweight in his arms.

"How do I do … _what exactly_, Wohehiv?" Severus asked, knowing well what the young healer meant, but he simply was ways too angry to act reasonably right now.

How dare they! He finally had had a good look at the child's damaged back, at the welts and cuts and bruises and burns, at skin that was covered in layers over layers of scars already, old and new ones. He'd only had a _glimpse_ of the child's privates, but it had been enough to tell him that the boy had been abused sexually too, and in a most cruel way.

How dare they!

He personally would ensure that they would pay! And that they would pay deeply! He would ensure that they would feel as much pain as the boy in his arms had felt, still felt, maybe always would feel – _after_ he had ensured that the child was safe from those monsters!

But one question still wasn't answered. The question as to when and where and by whom the child had been subjected to the cruciatus.

He didn't even notice the concern and the care he felt about the boy in his arms, the boy he once had disliked so much, the protectiveness he felt over the boy, but even if he had noticed, he surely wouldn't have cared. Not anymore.

"Handling such situations." Wohehiv asked, getting him out of his thoughts.

"You better do not ask this question." He answered, sighing. "Because I cannot answer it. I do not know it myself. After all those years of handling a house in which at least a quarter of the students is abused, I still do not know how I manage it. But I can ensure you, that you will never get used to it."

"Acheron will have to know." Wohehiv said, opening the doors to the medical wing. "I am sure he will want to notify child welfare. The boy's elders need to be called to account."

"Do so." Snape growled darkly while gently laying the limp form of the boy onto one of the beds, causing the other wizard to look up at him startled. "He may inform child welfare, but that will not keep me from punishing Potter's relatives personally."

"What do you mean, Severus?" Wohehiv asked, worriedly, while calling a house elf and removing the cloak the boy was wrapped in.

"What do you _think_ I do mean?" The Potions Master asked back, going through the salves and potions in the medical cupboard, choosing the ones he needed.

"Surely you won't take the law in your own hands!" The medic wizard said after asking the house elf to get the headmaster.

Snape looked up at him for a moment before lifting the boy's upper body until he had him in a nearly sitting position and then poured a sleeping potion down the boy's throat, gently massaging the delicate throat, ensuring the boy wouldn't choke on the potion. He didn't want the child waking up while they tended to his half healed injuries.

"You may call it whatever you want." Snape then growled while applying the salve on the boy's chest, nearly wincing when his fingers ran over the skeletal chest, rather massaging the ribs than flesh and muscles underneath his hands. "_I_ do call it punishment. And as the boy's guardian I have the right doing just that."

"You won't really harm them, will you, Severus?" Wohehiv asked, nearly sounding worried and Snape actually huffed at the man. He watched him massaging some of the same salve onto the boy's injuries on his arms, while he still did the same with Potter's chest.

"Where would be the purpose in punishing them if I would not intend harming them?" He then asked.

"You can't do that!" Wohehiv stopped for a moment, looking at him worriedly, before continuing putting the salve on the boy's arms.

"Oh, and why ever not?" Snape asked, stopping in his own movements for a moment and looking over at the healer with a raised eyebrow. "I _can_, Wohehiv, and I _will_. I have done worse in my life and you would be shocked if you knew just a part of it. I am not the man you may see. I am not the cold and dark but otherwise harmless teacher you may see. I have been a spy in a dangerous war and I have done things you would shudder upon if you knew them. Sometimes I really wonder why in Merlin's name Dumbledore wanted me as a teacher, working with children!"

"I do not know Dumbledore's reasons." A deep voice from behind them softly said. "Somehow I do fear that he needed a spy only, but I have seen enough in you, Severus. You are very protective when it comes to your students and as strict as you might be, you do care for them deeply and you act within reason." Acheron had come close too and he simply took another jar of the healing salve and started working on the boy's legs. "Yes, I actually do know about your past, child, but I do accept and respect you as my colleague nevertheless as I know that you would be ready to give your life to save theirs if necessary. That alone is reason enough for me to keep you at my school. What has happened to this child?"

"He has been abused." Snape growled darkly after a moment, glaring at the headmaster upon calling him child. "And he has been abused by his own relatives since years."

He didn't know why in Merlin's name he had told Wohehiv about his past, even if he had told nothing the man couldn't have found out by himself if he so wished. But he had told him _something_ nevertheless. Not something he normally did. In his position it was a dangerous thing giving away too much information. What was it with that Indian that caused Potter to suddenly smile for a second upon being called a name like _little robe_ that would have had any other boy being upset, even if he normally never smiled since a small eternity? What was it with this Indian that caused him, Snape, the careful spy, to suddenly tell the man things he never would have told anyone else?

"And now you want to avenge the boy." Acheron simply stated. He didn't even ask.

"Actually, I do." Snape answered defensively, carefully turning the child over onto his stomach, ignoring the repeated hiss from Wohehiv, ignoring the startled "Merlin!" from Acheron upon seeing the boy's back and he simply started working the healing salve into the boy's back, not even caring to cover only the injuries but massaging the salve into each and every inch of the boy's skin, his fingers running over each and every backbone so easily visible and tangible underneath the damaged and scarred skin.

No human body should look like that, and surely not the body of a fifteen year old child. Not even Mad Eye Moody's body, as old as the auror might be, looked like this, he was sure, and Moody was an old warrior. And he knew for sure that not even his own body looked like this, and he had collected a fair amount of scars during his thirty-five years of life, first from his abusive and often drunken father and then in a dangerous war as a spy. He might not have been at the front line fighting the Dark Lord, but he had fought him from within a much more dangerous position, directly facing the blasted bastard within his own lines.

"So be it." Acheron said with a sigh. "As long as you keep yourself out of Azkaban. You are needed, Severus, and if only by your students. But I do think that Harry will need you more than anyone else does. Do not fail him, do not abandon him and do not leave him behind by getting yourself imprisoned."

"I won't." Snape promised after a second of fixing Acheron with his dark eyes, trying to figure out the man's intentions and finding that – unlike Albus – Acheron actually worried and cared, even about him, Snape.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Later that evening Snape stormed through the hallways, his face like a thundercloud. Acheron had been informed and the headmaster had promised to look after his students and to make sure they went to bed at their respectable times. The few portraits along the walls and the few ghosts awake knew to keep out of his way and not to attempt talking to him.

"Someone's in trouble." One portrait remarked to its neighbour.

Snape ignored it and continued on to the office he was heading for.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_Headmasters, teachers and students__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	12. tsévó'kómo heséeo'ôtse ho'honaa'e

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_Later that evening Snape stormed through the hallways, his face like a thundercloud. Acheron had been informed and the headmaster had ensured to look after his students and to make sure they went to bed at their respectable times. The few portraits along the walls and the few ghosts awake knew to keep out of his way and not to attempt talking to him._

_"Someone's in trouble." One portrait remarked to its neighbour._

_Snape ignored it and continued on to the office he was heading for._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****twelve**

**tsévó'kómo heséeo'ôtse ho'honaa'e**

"Good morning Severus." Albus greeted him cheerfully, allowing him into the office.

He had been apparating to the Hogwarts gates, not wanting to take the short way, flooing from Acheron's study into Dumbledore's office. He just had needed some time, and honestly, the trip up to the castle he had been spending thinking. Not the kind of thinking he normally would find himself pondering over, like how he was going to keep Potter alive for the next weeks while the blasted boy took off chasing trolls, three headed dogs, basilisks, werewolves, dementors and trolls, just for example, or how he could teach a class of students in a dangerous subject like potions while keeping them alive despite their efforts to destroy his classroom with exploding and melting cauldrons filled with poisonous, caustic or other dangerous substances. His line of thoughts didn't even come close to the line of thoughts over what he had learned from the Dark Lord while fulfilling his duties as a spy, or if Dumbledore always was truthful with him, if he hadn't misjudged the old man and the situation itself for the past few years – what he nowadays thought he quite had, he had to admit.

He rather was retreating into his own mind, calling up all of his occlumency shields, calling up all of his calmness and all of his Slytherin traits, calling up all he had learned as a spy during the years, knowing that he right now would need them while dealing with Dumbledore. He would have to be very carefully right now, if he wanted to gain information – any information – from the headmaster.

Barely he registered that he maybe shouldn't have come in the first place, if he wanted to gain those information from the old wizard. But well, he was here, and well, he just wanted to know what Albus had to say, and well – he needed an outlet. And Albus was, for the moment, the right person, for the headmaster had placed the boy with those monsters that were his relatives, not checking on the boy during the years, not checking on him after he had come to Hogwarts either, and not caring about anything else regarding the boy that right now lay in Wohehiv's medical wing.

He prepared himself right now like he prepared himself when going to a meeting with the Dark Lord – only that this time, he would not use it against the evil bastard, but against Dumbledore. This realization however, confused him less than it would have confused him a few weeks ago, he had to admit.

"There is absolutely nothing good about this morning, headmaster." Snape replied icily.

"You are still angry, I take it." It wasn't a question but a statement and Snape huffed angrily, furrowing his brows.

"Actually – yes." He said, folding his arms in front of his chest. He wasn't angry still, but again, but Albus didn't have to know this – yet. "And before you ask what I am doing here, why have you never checked up on Potter?"

"What do you mean, Severus?" Albus asked, shaking his head in lack of understanding.

"You have placed him with the Dursleys, Petunia's sister and her husband, if I am correct?" The Potions Master asked, his eyebrow lifted at the headmaster.

"Yes, I have." The old man replied.

"With muggles." Snape said, his voice cold now. "And with muggles whom you knew hated magic. You _knew_ Lily's sister after all. Didn't it ever cross your so _intelligent_ mind, that maybe – just … _maybe_ – this hate of magic could turn out to … _hate_ … towards the wizarding child you have entrusted into their … care?"

"I have already told you on more than one occasions, that Harry does not have the comfortable and prince-like life you always thought, Severus. I always told you that he isn't happy there."

"I do not speak of being happy or not, headmaster." Snape growled darkly. "I speak of right-out neglect and abuse. So, did you ever check on Potter during the holidays?"

"I never have seen a reason for doing so, Severus." Dumbledore shook his head, leaning back in his chair and regarding the Potions Master with a thoughtful look.

Severus Snape narrowed his eyes at the older wizard.

"Did you even ever care about Potter, _Professor Dumbledore_?" He asked, emphasising the older wizard's title and name, hoping it would make the headmaster angry.

"Of course I care about Harry." Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly. "I always have and I always will. He is very important after all, and he is a very remarkable young man."

"He is not a young man yet, headmaster." Snape growled, glaring at the old man. "He is a boy still. He is a child still. And you have failed him."

"I don't think so, Severus." Dumbledore said and with some satisfaction the Potions Master could hear that the headmaster slowly but surely got impatient. "I do care about Harry, deeply."

"No, headmaster – you do not care." Snape quietly said, glaring at the man and the Potions Master found that he started enjoying his new role as defender of Potter. "Not as you ought to anyway, and thus, history repeats itself, doesn't it? Namely my history repeats itself with Harry, just as Tom Riddle's history has repeated itself with me. And still – you do not learn … _old man_."

"It is enough, Severus." Dumbledore finally got angry and Snape nearly smirked. Just what he had wanted and he watched the older wizard closely. "I always have cared about Harry and I always have cared about you. Both of you will be needed before this war is over, for the better or the worse. Both of you are needed the way you are, both of you had to learn that life isn't a playschool but dangerous and difficult, and both of you had to stand on opposite sides in this war so you can work together in the end."

Snape slowly nodded. He had learned what he had wanted to learn. Albus didn't care. Albus never had cared, neither about Harry, nor about him, Snape. And the most important thing he had learned was, despite the old man's words he had said year for year, that he should try getting along with Harry, he did not really want him, Severus, getting along with Potter, he wanted them standing on opposite sides. They all had been pawns in the headmaster's twisted chess game he was playing with the Dark Lord. It would stop. And it would stop here and now. He wasn't ready to play his part in the game anymore and he wouldn't allow the damn brat being played with in this blasted game any longer either. Potter was a child, a student of his, and not a warrior. There were enough adults to take down one evil wizard, it couldn't all sit upon a child's shoulders.

"Well." He said after a long moment of searching silence. "Then I believe that there is nothing else I have to say to you, headmaster."

He turned towards the door to leave the office, feeling suddenly like a very old man, realizing that he had trusted Dumbledore too long, and maybe too deeply.

"Severus!" Dumbledore called after him but he walked on anyway, his hand stretched out for the door knob, and for one single, awful second he wasn't sure whether it would open or not. "Severus, that isn't the way I want have you leaving. Let us talk about it …"

But the door wasn't locked and Snape ripped it open, stepped through and passed the stone gargoyle before he allowed himself to breathe out in sudden relief. He hadn't realized how tense he had been, how strained and how stressed, but this walk out of the headmaster's door was like a walk into freedom, as if he had left behind all his troubles and all his worries in the old man's office.

There might have been a war, yes, and of course he would fight for the light in this second wizarding war as well as he had fought in the first one, yes, but he had fulfilled a more dangerous task as a spy in the first wizarding war already while others had done nothing but hiding. He had a different task now – namely …

Namely what?

Caring for Potter?

Reassembling all the puzzle pieces Potter had lost throughout the years?

Keeping Potter from Dumbledore as well as from the Dark Lord?

Keeping Potter from returning to the Dursleys?

Taking Potter in to keep him safe?

So – in the end – caring for Potter?

Well, as it seemed, he had to. There was no other one left. There was no other one left who would be able to pick up all the puzzle pieces that had fallen off Potter on his way and putting them back together again.

Potter had his own task to fulfil in this upcoming second wizarding war, whatever task that was, but as it seemed he was the one who had to ensure that the boy was not drawn into this task before he was ready, before he'd had back some kind of childhood, youth. As it seemed he was the one who had to ensure that the boy was not drawn into this war while he still was a child, and as it seemed, he was the one who would have to stand by the boy's side, to aid him, to help him, and to ensure that he not only survived, but that he came out of this madness healthy on body and mind.

And he realized that this thought didn't even annoy him as much as he had feared it would annoy him.

His actions in Dumbledore's office, the way he had left Dumbledore's office, it had not been the wisest move perhaps, and he knew this. It had not been a very Slytherin thing to do. His actions had told Dumbledore far more than he had intended letting him know and the headmaster probably was even now wondering how he could get the situation back under his control. But he had made his decision right then.

His spying days were over, once and for all, finally and irreversibly. He would not spy any longer, neither on the Dark Lord, nor on the boy – or others.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Snape was sitting in a rather comfortable armchair beside the bed Potter lay in, still under the effect of the sleeping potion. Well, actually the potion should have worn off an hour or two ago, but he guessed that the boy was just too exhausted and tired and that for simply slept on. So – there was no way to predict when he finally would wake up.

He had placed the medical file he finally had gotten from Poppy onto the foot of the bed the boy lay in. He had awaited that file for a few days now, had requested it a week earlier, upon arriving here in Canada and noticing that there was something quite wrong with the boy, but considering the far away distance the blasted owl had to fly, it had taken until now that he finally held the file in his hands.

And he had read it through carefully while sitting here and watching over his student. The one that had him worried the most at the present time.

He was quite capable to read a medical file, knowing Poppy's way of writings and knowing what her medical terms meant. So yes – he was … slightly … concerned over what he had read. It had been a wording he knew all to well from the files of his Slytherins, and thinking back to the past years since Potter had attended Hogwarts, he had to admit that he should have seen the signs.

Potter had had no associations with any other house, and he didn't even have much amity with his own house. Granger and Weasley had been the closest persons to him, but even they had not been what he would have called really close friends. Both their friendship towards Potter somehow had seemed forced, even to him, and he surely wasn't a man that had much experiences with friendships. And last year during the tournament Weasley had shown his true colours, acting jealous when there had been no reason to be jealous at all. The task Potter had been thrown into, had been dangerous and deathly, and he had survived it with luck only, had survived it barely even.

Aside from that the boy always had tried to fade into the shadows, he had flinched if touched without being prepared and he had looked like a starved house elf, even long after coming back to Hogwarts. He remembered that only in the last few months, from the end of December on, or from the beginning of January on maybe, the boy had started to really gain weight, until May or June, until shortly before the holidays where he had started to lose weight again. And now he knew why.

Every child would lose weight upon fearing the upcoming holidays, upon fearing the thought of being sent back to the monsters that abused him in the most cruel ways he could imagine.

His health generally was atrocious, according to both, Poppy and Minerva, particularly after returning from a stay with his relatives. They always had complained about the boy's health and he remembered that Poppy had threatened Minerva to take the boy off the Quidditch team. He always had thought that Poppy just had exaggerated.

_"__This is ridiculous! Every year I see Potter coming to school thinner and thinner. He's skin and bones!" _Poppy once had raged, trying to get Dumbledore seeing reason._ "How is it that no one notices? He shouldn't be allowed to play on the team! He's malnourished and probably he was for his entire life." _

But come to think of it now, he couldn't help agreeing with the medi-witch.

He also remembered that Potter never went home if he was not forced to go. In fact he even could recall several occasions of Potter asking the headmaster to allow him at the castle during the summer holidays, or of trying to convince Hagrid to keep him over the summer holidays as a helper of some sort.

And yet – those files held nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – that explained all those scars he had seen on the boy's back, a fact that confused Snape, he had to admit.

He knew Poppy, and he knew that the matron would not have overseen them, and yet - there were years of scars marring the boy's body. How had Potter hidden this from Poppy throughout the years and all his visits to the hospital wing? How had he managed to hide this from all the teachers and actually from the whole school? Obviously Potter was cleverer than he had thought. What else did he not know about _Harry_ Potter?

The boy's bruised front he somehow could comprehend. Dursley probably had beaten the boy up pretty well at a regular basis, probably had even kicked at him. And considering the man's body mass, he of course would leave such an amount of badly healed bruises.

But the boy's back! Merlin!

He had been shocked at seeing not only the bruises and all those welts and cuts, but all those scars. Layers of scars that covered other layers of older scars. He had been a Death Eater, and just like he had said to Wohehiv earlier, he had done things during his work as a spy the Indian would shudder upon.

So – he knew what scars looked like, scars from beatings with a whip, scars from beating with a cane, and scars from being cut with a blade, scars from being burnt. And those scars on the boy's back were caused by three of the four, from beatings with a cane or something similar and from being cut with a blade as well as from being burnt. And the scars from the cuts that had been caused by a blade were not only shallow scars, but they went deep, the edges of them split so they formed gaps on the child's back and shoulders.

What horrors had this particular child gone through? How long had this been taking place? From what he could tell when looking at those scars a long time, some of them had been years old.

"Severus?"

The wizard turned his face upon hearing Wohehiv calling him by his name and he looked at the other wizard questioningly.

"Won't you go to bed, Severus?" The young master of the medical wing asked and he looked up at the man, frowning for a moment, until he realized what was so strange. The Indian had braided white stones into his black hair.

"They are made from white rocks." He explained upon recognizing the Potions Master's questioning gaze at him. "And they are called tsévó'kómo heséeo'ôtse ho'honaa'e, white medicine stones, as white is the Cheyenne colour for the active life. And that it is what I wish for this child right now."

Snape nodded his head. So Wohehiv was a Cheyenne. He thought it strange that the man still held onto such old traditions and believes of his tribe, but he also knew that sometimes they were not the worst things. The Britain wizarding world too had their old traditions and believes, and honestly, they were worse sometimes than wishing active life to a child that was ill on mind and body. And besides - those white stones in the man's black hair, it didn't look so bad.

"Won't you go to bed, Severus?" Wohehiv repeated his question. He didn't order him, not like Poppy always had done, he just asked, reminding him in his own way that it was in the middle of the night – and time for closing his eyes for at least a few hours.

"You are not sleeping either, medicine man." He growled darkly, causing the Cheyenne to chuckle lightly.

"Well, as you stated, I am the medicine man here, Severus. It is my place to stay awake while I have an ill charge in my tepee."

"And I am Potter's guardian." Snape countered. "I am supposed to be at his side while he is in need of care."

"As you wish, Severus." Wohehiv answered, inclining his head. "I however remind you, that neither this child nor your other students can be cared for properly by a teacher that is exhausted, grumpy and unfocused." With those words Wohehiv simply turned and left the dark man sitting there in the armchair beside the boy's bed.

Well, Wohehiv was right, and he knew it, but honestly, he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he laid down right now. The amount of damage inflicted upon an innocent child he had seen this evening, had been just too much, even for him.

The boy's body, especially his back, had looked as if he had been through carefully planned torture sessions from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. And his skeletal body had looked as if the boy had been through those carefully planned torture sessions each summer he went back to his relatives. Something he knew only from the tortures of the Dark Lord's victims.

No food, barely enough water to keep them alive, physical beatings as well as hexes and curses – and no, he had not forgotten the lingering effects of the cruciatus the boy's body showed. In other words – it was a hell similar to being imprisoned and a victim to the Dark Lord Potter had been through each summer since years.

And it made his world tilt once again. It caused his view of the boy that lay there in front of him shift once again, not for the first time since he had left Britain with the child. And it caused his emotions to nearly boiling over again when thinking back at the damaged body he had healed together with Wohehiv to the best of their abilities earlier.

How could they – how could _anyone_ do such to an innocent child? Using canes or similar beating instruments on an innocent child? Using blades on an innocent child until leaving scars deep enough so they gaped?

And then the boy's privates.

His fingers rarely trembled, really rarely, but they _had_ trembled while he had administered the healing salve and therefore had seen the damage done there. He'd had only a brief glimpse at them while they had been in their prior rooms where the child had fled to, but he'd had a good view of them while taking care of the boy's injuries. And it had been more than clear that the child had been beaten _there_.

Again, and not for the first time, his fury flared again, masking his horror until the rage he felt was calming his horrified mind.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Soft voices got him out of his sleep, but he couldn't understand the words, nor did he even try to understand them. His mind simply was too hazy still, too sleepy, to try and understand them and he just was glad that the pain had ceased somewhat, that laying on his back didn't hurt as much as it used to and that he for once had been sleeping peacefully and without any nightmares. It was a rare occasion that he did. His visions had lessened since he was here in Canada, he had to admit, but the nightmares had not left.

He nearly was back to sleep when he sensed a presence beside him and finally forcing his eyes open a crack, turning his face into the direction of the presence, he looked directly into the Potions Master's dark eyes.

When Snape looked back at him, Harry could see shock and anger on his face, but he immediately knew that the anger for once wasn't directed towards him and he had to admit that this was a realization that confused him, that caused him to study the pale face more intently. He could see a pained expression on the pale face that was set in harsh lines and he could only imagine what it must be feeling like for the normally so cold and collected man to lose his composure.

A slight movement to his right caused the Potions Master to look over at the bed and he could see Potter trying to force his eyes open, managing it only at the third or fourth attempt and he leaned forwards in his armchair, watching the child close. He still looked exhausted, his face still was too pale for his liking and the green eyes that watched him right now were confused, startled, scared and filled with pain, emotional pain as well as physical pain.

He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a vial with a pain relieving potion, extending his hand to reach it towards the boy.

Said boy however quickly scrambled away from him, back towards the headboard of the bed he lay in, while at the same time he gave a short startled scream away, turning his upper body away from him while throwing his arms up and screwing his eyes closed tightly.

He stilled his hand midair, looking at the boy startled by himself. Potter hadn't shown such startled and scared reaction, such fear of him earlier, and he didn't understand it for a moment. The boy had been scared, and he had been startled, but he always had managed to hide …

Well, recent events just were too fresh on the boy's mind to keep up his normally so stoic mask. Of course the child wasn't able to keep his reactions under control right now. Of course the child wasn't able to keep up his mask and his composure right now. He should have known that such a reaction would come.

Slowly he placed the vial on the bed and just as slowly he extended his hand and reached out to the child, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder and gently turning him back to face him. And just as gently he placed his other hand onto the child's lower arm that still covered his face in a protective way and gently pressed it down.

"Calm down, Harry." He quietly said, trying to gain the boy's attention.

Harry's heart leaped as he turned back to face Snape. The man had sat down on the bed beside him and was much closer now and he had to force himself to calm down, to look back at the man, but he could see none of the usual derision or sarcasm in Snape's harsh face or in his black eyes, he only saw concern and – some kind of understanding. But why? And …

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"Harry." Snape said quietly, keeping his voice as gently as possible. "Do you really think I would have beaten you?"

The boy's shaking of his head was a startled one, a frightened one, and he could see that for a moment the child _had_ thought he would beat him.

"Do you truly think I would ever hurt you, child?" He quietly asked. "Are you truly afraid of me?"

"I … I trust you …" The boy answered, in a voice that clearly stated that yes, he might trust him, but that he also was afraid of him, never mind how much he might deny it.

"That was not what I asked, Harry." He said.

He didn't get an answer and he hadn't expected one either, so he didn't mind Wohehiv coming from his office into the hall, his face calm but concerned and drawn.

"You are awake, Hahkethomemah." He calmly said, but Severus knew the man well enough meanwhile to notice the concern and the horror still lingering in the man's voice. "How are you feeling, child?"

"I'm fine." Potter quietly answered after a moment, his eyes on his trembling hands he held in his lap atop the blanket. "Thank you."

The healer looked at the boy unbelieving, looked over at him, Severus, and then back at the boy.

"Fine?" He asked, his voice now incredulous. "What do you mean with 'fine'? I've never seen anyone that hurt before!"

"It is a standard answer, ingrained in Potter's head, I fear." Snape answered in a drawl that was meant to cover his own emotions. "You won't get any other answer out of this particular student, even if he were to die."

Giving a quiet sigh away he reached out again, carefully keeping his movement slow and visible to the boy, and after taking the vial with the pain reliever from the bed where he had placed it before, he reached it towards the child.

"It is a pain reliever." He said getting off the bed. "Even if you are – _fine_ – as you described your poor healthy condition with, take it. I am sure that Wohehiv will give you a sleeping potion again so you will sleep throughout the night. You are excused from your classes for the next two days, so do not worry about oversleeping with the potion in your system."

"But I can't … I _have_ to go to classes." Potter exclaimed in his scratchy whisper, sitting upright and looking startled now, and Snape actually had to lift his eyebrow at the brat. He had known that something in the brat's studying pattern had changed, but he had not thought that he actually might be that upset over a day off. If he only would have been that eager to study during the past four years.

"One might think that being excused from classes for two days would make you happy, Mr. Potter, instead of – so upset." He commented sarcastically. "Any explanation for this strange change of your studying patterns?"

"I just have to." Potter said, still upset, looking at him nearly pleadingly. "I have to learn as much as possible. I know that I won't have a chance of surviving uncle Voldie, but if I learn as much as possible then maybe I can take him with me. And wouldn't that be enough?"

"Uncle what …?" Snape spluttered, leaning his hands onto the backrest of the armchair to have something to hold onto, just now remembering that – yes, Potter had called the Dark Lord by this name the day before, during history. He just had not realized it back then as he had been startled over the boy giving him such a detailed answer in the first place.

Of course he didn't get an answer aside from a startled look and neither had he expected one, so he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I am sure that is not what you truly belief." He heard Wohehiv saying and he knew that the healer didn't mean the boy calling the Dark Lord 'uncle Voldie'. "Surely your own life means more to you than that!"

"But it is!" The boy's still so rough voice sounded desperate. "I don't care about my own life. I won't survive uncle Voldie anyway. So what? The only reason my life has is to take him down with me."

"Those are words of someone who no longer knows his place in this world." Wohehiv calmly answered, but Snape could hear the anger in his voice too. "Those are the words of someone who too early had to carry too much responsibility. Those words are a cry for help too late sought. You will remain here for at least tomorrow and the day after that, and you will keep your study times in a healthy balance to your free times. As important as your studies are, if needed, I simply will restrict them to a responsible time each day."

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Another twist in his view concerning Potter.

He had gone to bed the moment the boy had been back to sleep, but sleep refused to come to _him_ easily.

It was just another twist in his view of that boy. He had known that he had been blaming himself for the deaths around him, for Black's, Diggory's, his parent's death even, and only Merlin knew who else's. He had known that that boy blamed himself for the abuse he had had to endure at the hands of his relatives, they all did, never mind how bad they were abused. And he already had known that that boy believed himself worthless and useless.

He thought back to the stance of the child he had always thought was arrogant and selfish, and he found another startling explanation for the mannerisms Potter always had displayed so well. Potter wasn't arrogant or a bully, he just stood with false bravado to hide his total lack of self esteem and self worth, too embarrassed and ashamed to allow anyone to find out about how weak he was in his own eyes, not being able to defend himself against his muggle uncle, about how bad he was, being beaten by his guardians, believing the nonsense they most likely had trilled into him that they only were punishments.

And yet – he, Snape, _had_ found out, had seen signs of this total lack of self esteem and self worth when he had been shopping with the boy, and when he had announced to the brat that he had brewed a batch of the nutrient potion for him. But he had not seen how worthless his own life seemed to that boy. But he should have seen it.

He had been so busy over the years, making the boy's presence at the castle miserable that he never had seen that he wasn't the bully his father had been, that he hadn't seen that the boy wasn't a troublemaker at all and that he hadn't seen that the boy had needed help without being able to ask for this help.

Potter junior never had hurt other students, but had tried to help, even if it could end in his death what the incidence with the basilisk definitely proved. Ginevra Weasley had been in danger, and Potter had tried to help, not minding if he could die in the process, having to fight against a basilisk, a deathly creature.

His encounters with Draco had been invariably initialized by Draco himself and only had escalated when the arrogant young Slytherin had cornered the Gryffindor, leaving Potter no path to escape – or if that idiotic child was misguidedly protecting his friends. And even every instance in his, Snape's, class, he himself had been the aggressive part as well, not that boy.

And for not asking for help – well, they simply never did, the abused children.

And now he knew what Potter thought, not sure if it had been Dumbledore who had drilled this knowledge into the boy's head. Potter knew that he only was meant to bring down the Dark Lord, that he would die in the task, that he was not meant to survive the war, and he seemed to have accepted his fate.

Once again he promised himself that it would stop, and that it would stop here and now. He was Potter's guardian right now and he would do his job better than those damn muggles had done. For a moment he snorted. It wouldn't take much for doing a better job than the Dursleys had done. Even such a bastard as the Dark Lord himself would do a better job than the Dursleys had done.

But never mind what – he was Potter's guardian and he would show the boy what a guardian was there for. He would show the boy what it meant to be cared for and he would teach the boy that he could ask for help, even if it was only from him. He didn't fool himself, he still knew that he was a harsh man that was hard to please and had a bad temper, but he would manage – somehow. Because in one thing Acheron had been right – Potter needed him and he didn't intent to fail the child like Dumbledore had failed him, like all the other adults around him had failed him.

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**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	13. just some reflections

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

* * *

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_But never mind what – he was Potter's guardian and he would show the boy what a guardian was there for. He would show the boy what it meant to be cared for and he would teach the boy that he could ask for help, even if it was only from him. He still didn't fool himself, he still knew that he was a harsh man that was hard to please and had a bad temper, but he would manage – somehow. Because in one thing Acheron had been right – Potter needed him and he didn't intent to fail the child like Dumbledore had failed him, like all the other adults around him had failed him._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****thirteen**

**Just some reflections**

Fists punching out and hands pushing towards Snape, Harry fought like a demon and the Potions Master wondered where in Merlin's name the frail and still injured, exhausted and weak child did take his strength from to fight him like this. But again, just like back in his office, back at Hogwarts, back at the end of last year, again the older wizard was bigger and stronger and his general coldness and indifference enabled him to counter all of Harry's blows without actually getting hurt.

And so, before the boy was aware of what exactly had happened, he found himself – and not for the first time – pressed against his professor, his back to the man's front, with both of Snape's arms wrapped around his torso, gripping both of the teen's wrists in one hand in front of his chest while his other he had wrapped around the skinny torso. The teacher's grip was like iron, but the teen still struggled to get free – until he simply had no strength left and he let himself fall.

Severus Snape, who had not anticipated such a move nearly lost his balance, only barely able to maintain his footing and he wasn't able to maintain the grip on the boy at the same time, and cursing under his breath he reached out to again grab the boy's upper arms to get back a secure hold on him, keeping him from harming himself further in his panicking struggle.

Harry on the other hand _did_ realize that Snape had lost his grip on him and immediately his instincts kicked in. Letting himself fall to the floor completely he rolled to the side and beneath the bed. Of course he knew that it was childish to hide beneath his bed, but honestly, right now he rather acted childish than allowing his uncle to hurt him again. The problem was – he knew that his uncle would be able to pull him from beneath the bed.

Snape cursed under his breath, wondering what in Merlin's name he had done to startle the child like this and blinking his eyes he – no, he had done nothing!

**Flashback**

_"We have to talk, Potter." He said the moment he once again entered the medical wing and saw Potter awake__, the boy looking up at him startled. _

_"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused." The blasted brat __immediately said, averting his eyes and he lifted his eyebrow at the boy. He exactly knew why Potter apologized, but this had not been what he had intended on speaking with the boy._

_"You are not in need to apologize__ for anything, Potter." He said with a scowl on his face. "I am not here to speak with you about – any trouble you apparently believe you might have caused. I am here to speak about your summer holidays you have spent with your relatives."_

_"There's nothing to speak about, sir." Potter said, clearly a bit paler than he had been a moment before and again he averted his eyes, his fingers playing with the hem of his blanket nervously._

_"There is boy, and you will answer my question." Snape growled back. He had known that it wouldn't be easy to get the boy speaking, but he knew that it was important. The boy had to speak about what had happened. The past days had shown where it led to if the teen didn't speak about what had happened. He was so wound up he wasn't able to know what's up and down, or whom to trust anymore._

_"I'm sorry _…_ I didn't mean to." The boy stammered and Snape furrowed his brows, taking a step towards the teen. But Potter immediately scurried off the bed, on the opposite site and in his haste he had fallen off the bed, landing on his back with a 'thud' and a soft cry of pain._

**End flashback**

One had led to the other – the boy backing away from him the moment he had approached him, trying to flee and hitting his head in the attempt, causing a bleeding cut on his temple. He knew that a cut on the temple looked worse than it was as it bled worse than the same cut on ones finger would, for example, but it had been enough to get the boy deeper into his already present panic attack. And so he had ended up trying to restrain the boy before he could hurt himself any further – what had led to Potter hiding beneath the bed right now.

Pinching the bridge of his nose while closing his eyes for a moment he tried to find out what exactly had gone wrong, and why, but the only thing that came to his mind was the sentence "there is boy, and you will answer my question", but not which exact part of the sentence it had been that had upset the boy like this.

Sighing he lowered himself onto the floor, knowing that he couldn't do anything right now aside from moving slowly and lowering himself to the same level as was the child, not without startling and frightening the child more than he already was, and he leaned his back against the wall.

"I am not angry at you, Harry, if that is what you are worried about." He quietly said, trying to keep his voice even and calm, using the boy's given name even. "And I am not disappointed in you either, child. I will not hurt you and I will not starve you. I will not burn your things and I will not beat you. And surely I won't lock you into a cupboard. I am your guardian now, and as your guardian I might send you to your room at one point or another, but neither will I send you there for more than an hour or two so you might have time to think, nor will I ever lock you in your room."

He could hear soft movement and out of the corner of his eyes he could see the child slowly creeping forth from beneath his hiding place. Child, indeed, because neither was he much larger than a child, nor did he act any different right now than a small child would – hiding upon a threat and then testily creeping forth upon kind words.

"I told you that we will have to speak about what had happened to you, yes, but that does not mean that I will punish you if you are not ready doing so right now." He softly continued, not moving, never mind how much he would like reaching over and taking a grip on the still crying child, to pull him close. "It is important that you do, that you deal with what has happened, but I won't punish you for not doing so right now. Nor will you have to go through this alone." He looked over to the child, openly now, locking his dark eyes into the green ones of – simply a scared child and he suddenly realized, Potter did not simply _act_ like one, no. Right now, he simply _was_ a scared child and nothing else.

"You do not need to go through everything alone." He then, in an almost whispered tone finished. "You do not need to go through _anything_ alone. Not anymore."

Slowly Harry realized that he wasn't at the Dursleys, that he was in Canada and that it wasn't his uncle who had called him 'boy' but Snape, but still was barely able doing more than peering out of the bed, carefully, crying quietly, barely daring to breathe, but he could see the pained expression on the harsh face that watched him, Snape's face, and he only could imagine what it must feel like for the normally so stoic man to lose his composure.

Snape waved his hand at Harry, slowly so the boy wouldn't be startled, motioning the child closer to where he was sitting on the floor, but immediately Harry backed away from him, back under the bed, with a look of immense sadness and fear in his eyes.

"Come here, child." He then said, his hand still extended invitingly. "I won't hurt you." And finally, slowly the blasted brat did, coming closer, at least until he nearly was within arm reach and with a suppressed sigh the Potions Master leaned over and took the child's shoulder, pulled him closer.

At first the boy gave a startled scream away and for a moment he thought he would have to fight the child once again, but the moment he put his arms around the sobbing teen, the boy started to relax, started to accept the touch and he spoke again, this time in whispered tones. "Go ahead, child, and cry it out. I am here and I will go nowhere. You are not alone. It has been high time you finally allowed your emotions to show up. It will be alright, child, trust me, in the end, it will be alright, we will manage – if you allow me to help you."

Severus relaxed back against the wall and drew the silent and so obvious distressed boy into his lap with his movement, for once not caring that he held Harry Blasted Potter in his arms, held him close, much like he had held him while they had been alone in his office, at the end of the last term, and silently he rocked the youth without speaking, hoping that Harry would talk to him if he kept silent and waited for the child to work through his own thoughts and emotions right now.

He had wronged the child long enough, had never given him a chance to begin with. Had the child been in his house, it maybe would have been different, then maybe he would have seen as he cared deeply about his Slytherins. But the child hadn't. He had been in the one house that was as farthest away from his care as even possible, in Gryffindor, and that fact maybe had broken the child's back.

On the other hand, would he really have seen if Harry had been in Slytherin? Or would he have allowed his hate to look aside and to abandon one of his own snakes? One of his own students? What would this had done to the child? And what would this had done to the other children in his house? They would have noticed and would they still have trusted him then? Would he really have abandoned the child had he been in his house?

No, he realized. He most likely would not have abandoned the child, had he been sorted into Slytherin. Because he never abandoned one of his snakes.

"We really need to talk a little." He started when it was clear that the boy did not start on his own, but immediately Harry shook his head no. "You do not have to do so right now, child." He continued. "But we will have to do so soon." But again the boy shook his head against his robe.

"You know I trust you, right, child?" He asked, trying to get the boy at a different side. "I have taken you into my private quarters after your breakdown at the end of last term, after all, and I do not let just _anyone _into my quarters, especially not students. I have to trust them first."

Here Harry gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

"I am glad you understand that, and I am glad that you understand that I trust you." He said, knowing that he was on the correct track, like he always was with his Slytherins. It was about trust, and nothing else. Not fear in general, not pain in general, and not desperation in general – but trust. "Now the only question left is – do _you_ trust _me_ as well? Do you trust me in _not_ doing anything that would hurt you if you were to speak to me openly?"

Harry's nod wasn't quite as noticeable as had been his headshake and it had taken him some time to give it away, but it was there – if you looked for it.

"I am glad that you do, child." He then said, cradling the child's head closer to his shoulder and carding his fingers through the black mop of hair. "We will do this slowly if you so wish, but I do need you to tell me about those relatives you lived with … the Muggles, what were their names, the Dunderheads?" Severus smirked a playful smirk.

Harry didn't smile, just looked at him with his still so scared eyes, but he had calmed down and that was enough for the Potions Master right now.

"The Dursleys." He roughly whispered.

"Hmm." The Potions Master made. "Yes, I think Dursleys will be more appropriate. It would be an insult to all the dunderheads I am teaching at Hogwarts if I called your relatives the same. Will you allow me to help you sorting this mess out?" He then asked and he nearly missed the hesitant nod the child that by now was laying in his arms, nearly clinging to him as if to a lifeline gave away, and after looking down, taking a better look at the downcast child he continued.

"You know, I am actually very proud of you that you trust me enough to let me help you. Are you ready to allow me to get you back to bed now? I am an old man and sitting on the hard and cold floor is for you young imbeciles, not for an old man like me."

Harry nodded again, tiredly, and Severus – despite his earlier words – got off the floor easily, getting the child up together with him and carried him to bed while he inwardly groaned. What had become of him in such a short time? Carrying the blasted brat to bed and tucking him in? But well – it wasn't the first time after all. He had done so at the end of last year after the boy had broken down in his office and he had tucked him in again on the train.

Once the smaller wizard had his eyes closed and was breathing evenly, Snape tested the level of his sleep, made sure that the boy was in a deep slumber before he put a spell on the child that would alert him should the boy wake up. He didn't want Harry to be alone any longer than necessary once he awoke and secure in the knowledge that the boy would sleep at least a couple of hours, he made his way to the headmaster's office.

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"Good evening, Severus." Acheron said, lifting his eyebrow at the younger teacher the moment he nearly had run into him.

He had talked to Wohehiv earlier in the day and the healer had told him that the history teacher had visited the hospital wing a few times throughout the day, even if just for a short time each as Harry still had been asleep. But each time he had visited he had seen the worry in the man that had been so stoic throughout the past few days.

So – no, he was not startled that the same man now nearly had run into him and he himself could see that Master Severus not only was worried but really upset about something.

"What happened?" He therefore asked.

"I have been visiting Potter." Severus answered, his face becoming darker even. "And I have managed to upset him to a point where he had gotten into a panic attack upon a sentence I have said and I do not even know which part of the sentence had him so scared."

Yes, he could imagine. He already had learned that the man cared deeply and so – as much as Severus Snape liked playing the dark man, as much as he always liked displaying an uncaring man, one who had no heart and surely no soul – he did have those things and he could understand that the man was upset.

"Come, child." He said as he put a hand under Severus right elbow and simply led the way to his office. "Let us go to my office and there you can tell me about this visit. It will be a bit more comfortable than here in the corridors."

He nearly smiled at the scowl the younger wizard threw towards him at the term 'child', but he knew that it would not be welcomed and so he hid it. Right now was not the time to tease the young man that already was upset about a mistake he thought he had made. But honestly, he hadn't. Harry simply was afraid of anyone, he was sure about that.

"Sit down, Severus." He said, gently forcing the younger wizard into one of the armchairs in front of his desk. "I know that it is common to drink tea in England. Would you prefer I ordered one or would you like a cup of coffee?"

"A cup of coffee would be most appreciated, Master Acheron." The young teacher answered and the use of his title showed him enough of _how_ upset the young man was.

He had listened to the other teachers and the students throughout the day just as well, and he had to admit – he was very pleased with Severus' ways of teaching. He surely would not have started the year with the unforgivables, but the way Severus had explained them in his class, the students – for once – were interested in history of magic.

He also had learned that the man had started giving points, something he was not used to and he wasn't sure where Severus was heading with his system. If he gave points, then he would have to give them something to exchange them, or a prize. But well – that was Severus' business and he surely would not interfere into his teachers' ways of handling their students as long as their systems worked and as long as they did not hurt the children.

And Severus apparently did not.

He had given points to those students that had given him answers despite having troubles in form of bad memories or difficulties in learning and understanding. He also had picked exactly those students in the first place, had expected an answer from _them_ especially, and he started seeing a pattern – the dark and tough man was about to build up their confidence.

"Now, what has you so upset, Severus?" He asked, worry clearly audible in his voice, the moment he placed a cup of coffee in front of his newest teacher.

The man didn't answer immediately, reached for the cup instead and took a sip of the coffee without using milk and sugar, grimacing at the hot brew. Of course Severus Snape would drink his coffee black, he nearly smirked.

"How naive, deluded and unaware have we all been to not notice the signs of abuse over the last four years Potter has attended our school?" He then started and it was more a rant than anything else, words that simply had to be said, the man simply making way for his anger. "What _has_ Minerva been doing, blatantly ignoring the horrid shape the boy has arrived in each year? He has been in her house for four years, for Merlin's sake! As had been his parents and James had not been small, and neither had been Lilly – why would their son be such a small child then? Small, thin, weak, and undernourishment is a clear cause of such things. She should have seen it! She has been his head of house after all!"

The young teacher got off his chair, the cup of coffee still in his hand, and walked over to the window, gazing out into the direction the houses were.

"And Dumbledore!" The man quickly continued his rant. "He didn't even care! He deliberately placed Harry Potter into one corner while he placed me into another one, both as weapons in his war against the Dark Lord. He has used the boy, and I wonder – has he, who is supposedly the most powerful and all knowing wizard of the last century, has he in good conscience handed this boy off to his torturers? Because he definitely has done so _knowingly_."

"I cannot answer you this question, Severus, because I do not know an answer." He said, feeling sad. He could understand the young man's desperation, but he simply did not have an answer that would please the Potions Master. It however wasn't even necessary, as it seemed that Severus didn't even listen to him.

"And those blasted muggles!" The younger wizard continued, finally turning back towards the desk but not sitting back down. "Have they been starving the boy through all these year? What a stupid question, of course they have! They have starved him, beaten him and they have locked him into a blasted cupboard – for years. And no one has seen it! All our diagnostic charms, a fully qualified medi witch and the only Potions Master on staff in all of Great Britain who allowed his petty past grudges interfering with a child's health, and no one has noticed. If no one else, but _I_ should have seen the signs, Acheron, and if no one else, but _I_ should have recognized them."

"Calm down, Severus, child." He said, nearly feeling the man's self blaming and self loathing that was radiating off him in waves. "You are not at fault here. You have had your own students and you are not responsible for each and every student. That is the concept of the houses for after all. Mistress McGonagall has been in charge of Harry and _she_ should have realized that something was wrong, not you."

"She never had any experiences when it came to abused children, but I had." Severus shook his head. "She could not have seen it but I should have seen. And yet, I didn't, of course I didn't! A Death Eater working on a school, a Death Eater working with children! What had Albus been thinking! A Death Eater that held so much grudges against a dead man so that he allowed his hate to continue and bestow upon the son who had done nothing wrong! It only had been one crime more on …"

"It is enough, Severus!" The headmaster said, quietly, his dark eyes blazing with an angry fire, but the Potions Master knew – it was not anger directed at him, Severus, but at the situation. "It is enough." The old man repeated, calmer, and he got off his own armchair behind the desk and came over to him, reaching out and for a short moment Severus was about to draw his wand and defend himself from an attack, but then he forced himself to keep from doing so and the moment passed, the old wizard not striking him but touching his shoulder lightly while he looked deep into his eyes, locked his dark eyes with his own dark ones for many long minutes. And for once in his life, Severus let someone, let Acheron, see deeper even than he ever had let Albus see.

Something about the older wizard compelled him to be totally honest about himself, about his life and about his emotions, about his past, instinctively knowing that the information he was giving away freely would not be handled without care and respect, knowing that the old man would not betray him like Albus had betrayed him, even if he didn't know where this knowledge came from. He just knew, and he just knew that it was the right thing to do right now.

When Acheron Sieves finally broke his eye contact and his hand once more squeezed Severus' shoulders gently, he felt tired. But it wasn't the kind of tiredness he so often had felt in the presence of the Dark Lord and Albus, it was not this draining tiredness, this exhausted tiredness that threatened to consume him, that left him feeling weak and ill, it was a soft and warm tiredness that seemed to welcome him like a thin and soft blanket that was spread over him and he knew that this was the feeling of not forced legillimence but of a mind being allowed in by free will.

"You have been in a war, my child, and in war, sometimes the good must do things that they would never do on their own." Acheron said, his words spoken with kindness and without judgement, and the sincerity and confidence this old man spoke to him with, it finally caused the Potions Master to listen. "You have been in a war and as any soldier you have done what you had to do in order to survive and continue the fight so others might have a chance at all. You might have done terrible things, Severus, but you are not the only one, and you at least have never betrayed and handed children in to torture. Do not berate and insult yourself so easily just because you have been made feeling guilty by a man that has done more and worse crimes than have you."

"This is easier said than done, Master Acheron." Severus sighed, finally sitting back into the armchair and looking up at the man that was sitting down onto the edge of his desk. "My apology, headmaster."

"There is no need to apologize in the first place, Severus." Acheron said seriously. "What do you plan on doing with Harry?"

"I am not sure." Severus said. "For now I have full guardianship over him, but only for this school year – what means I have exactly ten months before it will be naught and he will have to go back to his relatives. Ten months during which I can try to find a way in keeping him not only from the Dursleys but from Dumbledore as well."

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The conversation he'd had with Acheron had been strange, really strange – but calming. In some ways Acheron seemed as strange as was Dumbledore, but he seemed calmer, more peaceful and more – good, for lack of a better word. Not to mention that Acheron did not order him around but left any decision to him, Severus. He might ask, but he did not tell him what to do, and he did not make him feeling guilty.

Acheron might be a strange old wizard – just like Dumbledore, but he was not a meddling old fool like Dumbledore had been.

However, before he would go back to his house and had a look on his other students, he would go and have a look on Harry, he decided, stopping mid-step, blinking for a moment and wondering how it came that he – in thought, mind you – had used the boy's given name. But then, well – it was the way things worked here at this school anyway, using the children's given names, and well – so be it.

The day itself had gone well, he had to admit.

Not only his house was a very small one, but his classes therefore held only seven to ten students just as well. And as small as those classes were – they were easy to handle and to teach. He actually liked it, he had to admit, and by the end of the day he knew that he had achieved something, that his attempts in teaching those children something had – for once – not been in vain.

He entered the medical wing and gazing through the room quickly, he could see that Potter already was asleep, luckily, or _still_ asleep, he didn't know, and he strolled over to the resting form. The moment however he came closer and looked down at the boy, he nearly had to smile, nearly, mind you! Because there, curled up on the bed lay Harry, a fifteen year old teenager now, with a stuffed toy cradled to his chest and fast asleep.

Wohehiv heard the door to his hospital wing opening and looking up from the desk in his office where he had been working on a report about Harry, he recognized Severus entering.

Severus. He thought. Severus Snape. A man that was really strange. The hooked nose clearly showed that it had been broken at least twice without being set correctly before healing and yet, it gave the man a somewhat proud look. He also had seen scars on the man's hands, on his arms and on his face, hidden beneath strands of hair, and from the way the Potions Master moved, he was sure that beneath the layers of black clothing there were more scars hidden, giving away the knowledge that the man had been through some things in his life so far and was therefore definitely not a weak man. The long hair he sometimes had tightened behind his neck gave him a somewhat aristocratic look and the dark eyes that pierced people to their very core were not only proof that the man was a skilled legillimens, but also made him shiver. They expressed so much behind the indifference the man always displayed.

The entire man always pretended to be an evil bastard, but at the same time he'd had the opportunity to watch the man handling Harry Potter, handling him with indifference and strictness, yes, but with kindness and understanding at the same time. Severus Snape desperately tried to keep up a reputation that he surely had worked hard on throughout the years and he wondered why he had done so. Why was this man so ready to play the bad guy?

Was it because had been a spy in a dangerous war England had been under? How had this man managed teaching on a school while at the same time being a spy? And what exactly was it the man had done like he had said just two days ago? What had made this man so hard and tough?

How old was Severus Snape even?

With all those harsh lines on his pale and indifferent face he looked like a nearly fifty year old man, but at the same time he knew that those lines could deceive and that most likely the man was younger. But how old was he really? What kind of man was he really even behind the mask he always displayed? Behind the role he was playing?

And right now this man – that always pretended that he was a careless and cruel man, a cold man, watched the child sleeping in the bed, taking the boy's clothes that were laying on the foot of the bed and folded them, carefully laying them onto the chair by the nearby desk. He watched him covering the child with a second, warmer blanket, tucking the edges around the small form and before the man could stop himself, Severus brushed the child's hair from his forehead before running his thumb over the child's cheek – with a slight, barely noticeable smile on his otherwise so harsh face and a whispered "goodnight, child" before he turned and exited the dimly lit room with his usual quick strides.

No, Severus Snape was not the man he wished others to see him, and he, Wohehiv, he had seen behind the mask.

With a pair of dark brown eyes sparkling in his face he smiled.

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Again the music class had gone well, he mused, while he went back to the house of music and entered, walking along the corridor that led to the living room where he found most of his students playing a game of Wizarding Monopoly.

Again he mostly had watched them during the class, had waited and had learned, and this time, after already knowing what he expected of them, the boys had been a bit more comfortable with the situation and had started taking actions sooner and easier than the day before.

Some of them had started switching instruments and he had registered which they handled more easily or which they were more comfortable with and some of them had even started singing, and in his mind he had started sorting them out, their voices and their speech, how much control they had over them.

Some of them were good – but not as good as Potter, he had to admit, and again he wondered how this boy had managed controlling his voice like he had despite the emotions that had overwhelmed him to a point where he had started crying. Not to mention despite the little fact that his voice normally when speaking was nothing more than a rough whisper.

And yet – it had been clear and confident while he had used his voice for singing. How had Potter done this?

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**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

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	14. Capacious and Harry

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus ... regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm ... ok ... I have to admit ... English is not my language by birth ... so ... please do not kill me while reading ... neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing ... thank you ...

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help ... there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be ... ^.~ ... believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in ****Little robe**

_Some of them had started switching instruments and he had registered which they handled more easily or which they were more comfortable with and some of them had even started singing, and in his mind he had started sorting them out, their voices and their speech, how much control they had over them._

_Some of them were good – but not as good as Potter, he had to admit, and again he wondered how this boy had managed controlling his voice like he had despite the emotions that had overwhelmed him to a point where he had started crying. Not to mention despite the little fact that his voice normally when speaking was nothing more than a rough whisper._

_And yet – it had been clear and confident while he had used his voice for singing. __How had Potter done this?_

**Little robe**

**Chapter thirteen**

**Capacious and Harry  
**

'_The wizard that trusted no one – chapter two, the man in black_

_He had followed the man in black, pulling Bantami with him and the smaller boy had been happy to leave with him, not caring where they went to as long as they were together. He didn't know exactly why he had followed the man in black, maybe because he still was so scared about what he would do with his dead body or maybe because he had seemed to be the only one who had cared while all the other people had walked by without even looking at him – at his dead form. Maybe he just had followed him because he had been black and therefore – in colour, while everything else had been grey in grey. He didn't know._

_But he was glad that he had._

_First the man had gone to a place that definitely was a graveyard and he had asked the grave digger to help him burying his body. Again he had been scared a bit, unsure of what would happen to him if his body were gone, unsure of how it would feel being buried deep under the earth, wondering if he even would feel anything at all but again Bantami had told him that it was alright._

_"I'm sorry that I have scared you when I have buried you, Tami." He had said to his little brother. "I wouldn't have done so if I had known how scary it is. Or I would have told you that it's a normal thing – whatever."_

_"It's ok, Capa." Bantami had answered, smiling. "You've been with me and I've trusted you. I've known that you wouldn't do anything that would've harmed me."_

_He had watched the man and the grave digger burying his body in an already existent hole – and he really had felt nothing. There had been many of them already made. Well, it was a place and a time where many people died after all. The war was just about to end, it wasn't completely over yet and people had nothing. Nothing to eat, no clothes, sometimes not even a roof over their heads. There were a lot of people living in the streets after all. And still there were the shots of guns being heard in the distance, fights that were held despite the armistice that had been bargained. So, yes – he did see the necessity to have a few graves already being dug. It was creepy though._

_However, and then they had followed the man – whose name was Animus as the grave digger had called him that – to his house. And this time it definitely was curiosity that had made him following the man as by then he surely had not been afraid anymore about what he could do with his dead body. It had been already buried after all._

_No, it only had been curiosity. That man was not grey in grey like all the other people but he was black. He of course knew that black was no colour in the first place, but nevertheless he was – in colour – somehow. And he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what or who that man was. He definitely was a living person as not only he had been able to carry his dead body away but the grave digger also – even if this one had been grey like all the others – had been able to see him, to talk with him. But on the other hand – he surely couldn't be a really living person if he wasn't grey in grey like all the others were._

_Well, the small house had been a surprise, he had to admit that. _

_The house had been grey, like all his surroundings, but it had been different nevertheless. There had been soft brown spots on the house, like __the colour of the wooden beams it had been built with showing through mist and the windows had been sparkling in the light of the dying sun – the sun itself being a bright grey while the windows had showed the colours the sunset would be in, red and violet and golden. _

_The man definitely had to be a wealthy man if he could afford glass in his windows to begin with, he knew. Most of the houses only had an open space as windows or the glass was broken since long and never repaired and some didn't even have a door that could be closed to begin with, only a curtain hanging in the entrance – if they were lucky._

_The inside has been as strange as had been the outside, the furniture not even showing as well that the man, Animus, surely was a wealthy man as he owned not only a table with a bench or two but two chairs and a real cupboard instead of only a __handmade shelf as well and even an armchair, but he also had a separate room where he had a bed and another cupboard and a bedside table even. And the furniture – even if old – was neither broken nor dirty. And here too – the furniture had showed some kind of strange mixture of grey and colour that seemed to fight his way through the grey, whatever the meaning of this was. _

_It was however a place he immediately liked and Bantami as well had smiled upon being there__, had nearly jumped up and down with his excitement._

_The strangest thing however had been when the man had taken a small ashlar, had drawn a stick and had pointed it at the stony surface. Both, Bantami as well as he had come closer to have a look at what the man was doing then – nearly rearing back a moment later._

_"__One should think that it is common to ask for permission before entering a house." The black man had said, his voice deep and soft, as if he had spoken to himself only._

_He had looked over at Bantami and Bantami had looked at him, startled, before they had looked at the man who by then had looked directly at them._

_"What are your names anyway?" He then had asked, not waiting for an answer, most likely knowing that they were too startled to give him one. "I have to know what to write here after all."_

_Well, he had given him their names, hesitantly, startled still, wondering how that man really could see them, and the man had drawn their names into the stone with his stick. He then had brought the stone to the grave and he had placed it there. It had been one of the very few graves that had held a stone and Bantami had smiled, had beamed at that and the smaller boy had been skipping while following the man back to his house. _

_And now they were here since three days already._

_"You know, you could have asked for help, Capacious." Animus said, just like he had said back then, when he had taken his dead body. "You could have asked for help and some people would have given it."_

_"I've asked for help." He said, looking over at the sleeping form that lay on the makeshift bed the black man had built just yesterday. It was a simple bed and Bantami and he had to share it, but it was a large bed that gave them enough space. "But people have chased us off."_

_"And so you have given up." Animus sighed. "You could have trusted some people that they are not like the others. You've lived in that hut over the hill you say, for two years – yet, you've never come to me and I'm not that far away. Don't take this as an accusation, I just noticed." He then added while again, like so often during the past three days since they were here, drawing that stick and pointing it at the glass of one of the windows that had been broken by a few kids earlier this morning and a moment later it was repaired._

_"How are you doing this?" He asked, furrowing his brows and blinking at the man, a question he had wanted to ask a few times now but hadn't dared doing so. If Animus could repair things so easily with this stick – however he did this – then maybe he wasn't as wealthy as he had thought in the beginning but had just always repaired his things by his own._

_"Repairing things? With my wand of course." Animus answered, narrowing his eyes at him and he actually felt as if the black man was staring into his very soul. "You would have been able doing the same, Capacious." Animus then added. "You're a wizard after all just like me."_

_"A __… no, I don't know any tricks and I'm not stupid either." He answered, narrowing his own eyes at the man and sitting up straighter – just in case. "I know that repairing things like you do is not a trick and therefore it has nothing to do with being a wizard."_

_"I do not speak of a wizard like you think of right now." Animus said, leaning back in his armchair and running his hand over the stick. "I do not speak of a wizard like the ones you have seen in town whenever the circus has been over nor the kind of wizard that make quick money with a few card tricks__ in the streets. I speak of a real wizard, of real magic."_

_"I don't understand." He shook his head – because he really didn't understand._

_"Close your eyes, Capacious." Animus said and he did, carefully, ready to reopen them at any point just in case that Animus would do something to harm him. Of course he knew the man already good enough so that he could be – relatively – sure that he wouldn't harm him and of course he knew that he was a ghost and that the man wouldn't even be able hurting him, at least not in a way that was normal. But that black man could see them, and that black man could repair things just with a wave of his stick he called a wand. _

_Maybe he would be able to hurt him._

_"Still not trusting that I wouldn't hurt you, do you, child?" Animus asked but then he heard the man sighing. "Alright." He then said. "I want you to try and feel your core. Your magical core actually. A wizard can feel his magical core, even as a ghost. Do you feel that there is something there? Can you feel that there is something that is alive within you?"_

_"I can feel that there is something, but I don't know what it is." Capacious answered. "For all I know it could be something that everyone feels."_

_"But not everyone is still there as a ghost after death and not everyone can see you as a ghost." Animus said. "Look at me, child. You might believe it or not, but it is just the way it is. No muggle, none magical people, can come back as a ghost and no muggle can see ghosts either, or speak to them, hear them. But you and your brother came back as ghosts and I can see you and speak with you – and that what you are feeling simply is your magical core. You are a wizard, just like your brother is one, just like I am one."_

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So, Capacious hadn't known that he was a wizard, just like he, Harry, hadn't known either. Well, that made some sense after all, he thought. If Capacious had known, then surely he would have been able to somehow get food in a magical way. He didn't know if there was the restriction of the underage wizard so that they couldn't do magic outside of school where Capacious and Bantami came from and he didn't even know if they had a magical school at all, it never had been mentioned in the book, but he was sure that Capacious would have tried anyway if he had known. The restriction after all said that they could do magic in a dire situation where their lives were at risks.

However, maybe they still would be alive if they had known. Why hadn't their parents told them while they still had been alive? Had they been muggles and hadn't known that Capacious and Bantami had been muggleborn wizards? Had their aunt known and knowingly withheld this information from them? If yes, then he could understand, then he was sure that the woman had seen them as freaks and then it would have explained her hate of the two boys as well.

Taking a deep breath he looked up from the book and his gaze fell onto the Potions Master sitting in a chair beside him, watching him with a thoughtful gaze on a pale face that held more lines than they had last year – or the years before.

"Back to reading that dreaded book, I see." Snape said, his tone sarcastic but even he could hear that it wasn't really meant to hurt him but rather to tease him and – again – he wondered: why?

Why would Snape tease him? Him of all people? He was Harry Bloody Potter and Snape hated him with all his being, with each breath he took! And now the man was sitting there, teasing him.

"We have to speak." Severus Snape said when he got no answer from Potter, immediately lifting his hand the moment the boy's face fell and became scared. "No. We do not have to speak about the Dursleys right now if you are not ready yet even if I insist that we do so soon. I rather meant that we have to speak about steps regarding your health that we have to take in near future."

Again there came no answer from the boy.

"Considering the fact that you came here with no clothes aside from those atrocious rags you have worn, personal items or even your school supplies – I do not really have to wonder why you yourself appear as if you have not eaten all summer." He continued. "In fact – I believe that you indeed have eaten none to nothing during your summer holidays, your relatives not providing you with any or much food. And considering that you came back to Hogwarts in a similar state of malnourishment each year as well as considering the fact that malnourishment to such an extent takes years to be caused and most likely is chronically meanwhile – I am sure that we do speak of an eating disorder you are suffering from meanwhile – what we have to remedy."

Still there was no answer from the boy. Well, he already knew what the boy thought, even if he was not sure if it had been Dumbledore who had drilled this knowledge into the boy's head, but Potter knew that he only was meant to be a weapon in the war, that he only was meant to bring down the Dark Lord, that he would die in the task, that he was not meant to survive the war at all. And as he seemed to have accepted his fate – he thought that it wouldn't matter if they remedied any situation the boy was in, never mind what exactly the situation was as he wouldn't live long enough to see adulthood anyway.

"In other words – you will attend each meal – breakfast, lunch and dinner." He said. "Aside from that you will have two meals between consisting of fruits, yoghurt or anything else that can be eaten between your lessons. Added to that you of course will continue taking the nutrient potion each morning at breakfast but we will divide it so that you will be able to even consume small meals between. The second half of the nutrient potion you will take shortly before bed time. And speaking of your bed time, Mr. Potter, considering the state of exhaustion I noticed, I take it that you did not get as much sleep as necessary while being with your relatives either – again since years and regularly what caused a sleeping disorder as well."

Well, that at least got a reaction from the boy.

"I don't have …"

"You do." He growled darkly. "A sleeping disorder is not just being unable sleeping to an appropriate time but any troubles that affect your sleep and your health to begin with. And therefore you do have a sleeping disorder. We have to remedy that as well. For future – never mind the amount of work you still have to accomplish, you will stop doing your homework _not less than_ two hours before your appointed bed time, in other words at the latest at nine o'clock as your bed time is eleven. I expect you to partake in the games that are played in the evening or to read in the parlor, to draw, to listen to music or to do anything else a teenager such as you is doing during his free time as long as you do it in the company of your fellow students."

Again there was a reaction, even if it was not a verbal reaction this time. The boy's face clearly showed that he did not like this particular suggestion and he was sure that the boy not only had been planning on learning until he would fall asleep on his desk – what wouldn't be anything new nowadays – but that he also had been planning on shutting himself up in his room, alone.

"Aside from that you will visit my office each evening half an hour before you go to bed for some relaxing exercises that will help you not only with your troubles sleeping but with your nightmares as well." He said. "You have been neglected all your live, Mr. Potter, and it is time that you allow an adult to take over in care for you for once. I know that it won't be easy for you and I know that you will have to learn giving away part of that control over yourself over to an adult – to me no less, but you are a child only. A fifteen year old child, but a child no less." He quickly added when he noticed that said child wanted to protest at being called a child.

"One question I have though, Mr. Potter, and I do expect an honest answer from you." He said, waiting until he got a hesitant nod from the boy. "Good. When exactly have you been subjected to the cruciatus?"

"At the end of last year." The boy answered, for once obeying his orders – he had not thought that he would – and a tiny shudder went through the thin body as if he remembered the pain again, but then he shrugged and the shadow seemed to fall from him. "At the graveyard. Uncle Voldie thought it funny, I think."

Well, yes – Potter had answered, but it was not an answer he liked, not in the least. At the end of last year, at the graveyard! In other words – nearly three months ago!

His face still an indifferent mask he inwardly groaned with frustration. Nearly three months, that meant that there was nothing he could do about the nerve damage. It would take months to undo the damage, months of not only potions the boy had to take at a daily basis but months of hard work doing physical exercises.

"Why have you said nothing back then, Mr. Potter?" He calmly asked. "Back then I could have provided you with a potion that would have eased and then healed the nerve damage. Now it will take months to remedy this situation as well."

"I have." Potter quietly answered in his rough whisper. "I've told Dumbledore. He said I had to keep it quiet. He said I only would be viewed as weak if I didn't and that surely I wouldn't want that."

"That …" Closing his eyes he took a deep breath before he would say something irresponsible in front of his student, but he had to admit that his anger against Dumbledore reached new heights. "Would you consider me as weak, Mr. Potter?" He then asked, calm again, knowing that he had to give the boy something to undo the damage Dumbledore had added to the damage the Dark Lord and the boy's relatives had inflicted on him.

Well, he got a headshake from the teen.

"Then maybe I should inform you that as a spy within the Dark Lord's ranks I as well have been subjected to that particular course." He said, his dark eyes fixed at the boy's pale face. "The trembling of your hands is caused by the cruciatus and it is not a sign of weakness but simple nerve damage – that could have been remedied within twenty-four hours if I had known. Dumbledore has been lying to you. You are not weak and no one would have viewed you as being weak."

"Am." Was all Potter mumbled but he understood it perfectly in the silence of the medical wing.

"Mr. Potter," Severus drawled in his typical Snape-mannerism, causing the boy to look up at him. "I have seen people going insane, plead for death and break under less pain and torment than you apparently have been through. You have not and you have endured it repeatedly since you were barely two. If _that_ is not strength, then I do not know what is. Dumbledore has been lying to you." He repeated.

"Maybe he didn't know." The boy whispered and in his rough voice he could hear the desperate wish that his words may be true. Again Potter was ready to lie to himself.

"He _did_ know, Harry." He quietly and gently said, understanding the boy's line of thinking. "He knew because I have been to his office after each and every Death Eater meeting back during the first wizarding war and he has seen the after effects of that curse – as well as the remedy for it. Take this potion." He then added, reaching the vial he had brought – just in case – towards the boy. "You will have to take it at a daily basis, preferably in the evenings and for the next few months. What else did Dumbledore tell you to keep quiet?"

"That Pettigrew took my blood for the potion that brought uncle Voldie back." Potter quietly answered after he had taken the potion without grimacing, even if he knew that this potion was a particularly nasty one.

Immediately adding one and one together Snape narrowed his eyes at the teen. So – the Dark Lord had Potter's blood running through his system.

"You will do as I just ordered and for once stick to the rules I have set so that we can remedy all of your difficulties and disorders." He growled grumpily, not willing to show Potter just how much he worried over the brat. "It is important that we do so now as it is easier done while you are young than in later years."

"I won't survive until – _later years_ – anyway!" The blasted boy said, his rough voice definitely angry now.

"Care to enlighten me as to what exactly you are babbling about, Potter?" Snape leaned close and grabbed the boy's chin to look into his eyes. He ignored the telltale flinch the teen gave away at his sudden movement and his hand coming up to his face, he ignored the startled intake of breath and he ignored the slight movements of the boy's arms, momentarily twitching to get up to protect his face.

"Trelawney's prophecy doesn't leave too many possibilities for me to survive." Potter answered a moment later, the moment he had himself back under control, his voice still angry. "So what? It doesn't matter anyway. Nothing matters, neither what I would like doing after the war nor what I think or say. So better never saying anything at all! Better just going on to the end as best as possible!"

Deep down, despite the fact that he never felt pity towards an abused child, knowing that they neither needed nor wanted pity – all he right now could feel _was_ a sense of pity. Pity because this particular boy, a boy who was innocent to begin with, had been marked before he even had been born, before he even ever had a choice, had been through hell and was now meant to sacrifice even more, namely to sacrifice himself, before this war would be over.

Albus had chosen him, Severus, as his pawn in this war for the simple reason that his background befitted that of a Death Eater, he knew, he wasn't stupid after all. Most Death Eaters came from dark or broken families and of all the junior order members only Black and he had fit this position. And as the possibility of the Gryffindor being able to fulfil the role as a spy for Dumbledore, being sent into the midst of the Dark Lords own ranks, was as unlikely as was Lily Evans failing her NEWTS – it had been clear that Albus had chosen him, Severus as his pawn. He was smart, cunning, and even back then he had been an angry child, marked by his father and used to pain and fear already. Albus had known that he would not break in the task, that he would endure and survive to bring him information.

Not to mention that already back then he had radiated a kind of silent pride that few would choose to question – it kept people on their toes. And nevertheless he had agreed by free will.

Not so Potter.

Potter had been chosen by Albus because of a silly prophecy and because Dumbledore had known that he would get Potter by his blasted sense of justice, loyalty and the need to keep others safe. And even if Potter had been marked by the Dark Lord, had been used to pain and fear – just like him, he suddenly realized – Potter never had agreed, Potter never had gotten a choice in the first place and Potter only had been used by Dumbledore like a slave.

But he understood even more. Over the last days, he had learned to watch Potter and to listen to him, to _really_ listen to him – not only to his rarely spoken words but to his voice, to his movements and to his breathing, like he did with a potion, watching it, listening to the soft boiling and concentrating on the soft sound of simmering, the nuances of noise the slow heating produced.

And again he realized – Potter, a child only, had accepted that he would die. Potter, a child only, had been taught by Dumbledore that he would die and the child had accepted it without even being allowed resignation – until he had broken under the weight of responsibility and sacrifice and simply had lost his wish to express himself with spoken words – or any other means of communication, he couldn't help thinking. The boy simply had given up – not on what Dumbledore had placed on his shoulders, but on himself.

"Is that why you barely speak?" Snape leaned even closer to the boy and his voice was gentle now, his dark eyes piercing the teen's green ones that were so distant in a face that was too pale and thin. "Is that why you never cry out or shout in pain?"

"Crying is bad." Potter simply answered, his voice as distant as were his eyes. "Crying shows weakness. They just beat you more if you cry. You best never show them that you're in pain. Never!" Suddenly the boy seemed to realize what he had been saying and looked at him, Snape, in utter horror.

"Professor, I … I didn't …"

"I understand." He calmly said the moment the boy trailed off helplessly, not backing away from the startled and now scared teen. "I understand. Do not say anything to counter your own words spoken thoughtlessly as they were the only true ones you said this evening. And do not say anything stupid to defend them either. I do understand more than you could ever know."

For a moment he kept his much too close stance before he released the child's chin and then straightened up.

"You will do as I say, Mr. Potter, you will work together with me on remedying your disorders and undoing what damage your relatives and Dumbledore as well as the Dark Lord have caused. There will be no way around that and you will cooperate. I am your guardian now and I will make sure that I will stay in this position even after this war. You are my ward and you neither will go back to Privet Drive nor will you fight a war that is not yours to fight – and this is final."

With that Snape stood and swept from the room, his robes billowing behind him dangerously.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He was more than just impressed, he had to admit that.

Again Severus had managed the situation with a difficult child without any struggling or troubles. He had left the office of his hospital wing when he had seen the other wizard sitting at Harry's bed, intending on speaking with him about any further treatment he thought necessary concerning the boy – but Severus had beaten him to that, had started his conversation with the boy – as single sided as it had been – and had told the boy about further steps to take.

And he had suggested the exact curse of action he himself would have suggested, a sign of how competent the man was when it came not only to his healing abilities but handling this child in the first place. Not that he had doubted it, he himself, as a healer, had to cover potions as well as Severus as a Potions Master had to cover the healing arts after all, but he nevertheless was impressed.

Maybe just because of witnessing how easy Severus had handled the situation whereupon he himself would have shown his sadness, his anger, his frustration or whatever he had felt at the moment.

And again he wondered.

Severus had been a spy to Dumbledore in a war against Voldemort – in other words, he had spied on Voldemort. Did this mean that the dark and severe man had become a Death Eater to gain entrance into the evil wizard's ranks? Had it been that what he had meant two days ago? When he had told him, Wohehiv, that he had done terrible things?

Surely as a spy in the role as a Death Eater he had not been able to refuse the command of Voldemort, he was not stupid after all and he knew exactly who Voldemort was and how he handled his – slaves. He knew that most crimes had not been done by him personally but he had ordered his Death Eaters to do them, his Death Eaters who better did not refuse his orders if they wished to survive.

So – what terrible things had Severus had to do while fulfilling his role as a Death Eater? Had it been that what had made him so hard and closed off?

He could imagine that Severus surely would fit well into the role as a spy, he had to admit that. Severus was intelligent, he was sly and cunning and he was a person who isolated himself – alone but proud, standing tall and watching, listening, only giving away information if he so wished while he turned all information he already had collected over in his mind until they became a picture, allowing him access to them whenever he needed to mix them together with other new found information.

Yes, he could see how Severus mind was working, how the man itself was working, and yes – he could see why he would make such a good spy. But had it been worth destroying that man in the process?

He thought not so.

He barely had met people who had not only fascinated him like Severus did, but he also rarely had med people who had been able to calm him the way Severus did while at the same time making him feeling so very much alive.

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"Good evening, Wohehiv." Severus greeted the Indian upon arriving at the hall for dinner and taking his usual place at the music table where the Cheyenne already was sitting at the same chair he had been sitting in during the start of term dinner. It seemed to be the healer's new favourite place lately, he noticed. But well – seeing that he liked the man – who was he to complain?

With a better mood than he'd had an hour ago he reached out for the mug of mead that often was served to the teachers for dinner and took a long sip.

Well, after visiting Potter this evening he had left the building to take a walk through the small town to clear his head, what had taken him nearly an hour and he just was in time for dinner now. Most of the students were already present as were most of the other teachers, but well, at least he had been able to clear his mind and to come to terms with what he had promised the blasted boy.

No, he was not overly concerned about the brat, surely not – he was Severus Snape after all. He just had learned a few more startling things about the boy that was his ward and he just had – practically – promised him to take him in. At least one could see it that way, seeing that he had promised the boy that he would make sure to stay in his position as the boy's guardian even after this year had ended,

A startling thought, he knew, but a thought that strangely didn't bother him too much and he huffed at that realization.

"pevêhetoeva, Severus." _/good evening, Severus/_ The other wizard greeted him. "netone'xovomohtahe?" _/how are you?/_

"nápévomóhtahe." _/I'm feeling good./_ He answered with a smirk on his face, causing Wohehiv to choke on the mead he just had taken a sip from himself and Andrew, Marc and Glen to look at him with their mouths hanging open. Brian, Sam and Terry were too caught up in their own conversation to have listened to the adults.

"You might want to close your mouths so you won't catch flies." He drawled to the three students he had startled while still smirking at the Cheyenne who by now was coughing, desperately trying to get his lungs back to working, and he got off his chair and taking Wohehiv by his shoulder with a tight grip of his left hand he hit his flat right hand between the man's shoulder blades.

"Honestly, Wohehiv." He then smirked, sitting back into his chair. "One should think that the process of learning how to drink is completed when leaving behind toddlerhood."

"I do thank you so very much, Severus." Wohehiv gasped, still unable to breathe comfortably.

"You are most welcome." He answered, still smirking.

"Where, in Merlin's name, did you learn that from?" The Cheyenne wanted to know, his voice incredible and his dark eyes narrowed at him, Severus, and his smirk even deepened.

"I do tend to listen, my dear friend." He nearly chuckled. "And seeing that you are talking in this language of yours quite often whenever you are unaware – it is no wonder that people do catch some words of it at one point or another."

"None of us ever managed _that_!" Andrew whispered to Glen who shook his head. "He's speaking it to quick to even listen to it!"

"I fear even if one of us would speak in slow motion and use perfect understandable English – you would not understand any of our words at all as you never listen to anything we tell you, Mr. Bennett." He smirked at the shocked faces around him.

Yes, definitely in a better mood than he had been in an hour ago.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_Back to classes and Snape __finally taking matters with his class into his hands._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	15. how to form a class

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in ****Little robe**

_"I do tend to listen, my dear friend." He nearly chuckled. "And seeing that you are talking in this language of yours quite often whenever you are unaware – it is no wonder that people do catch some words of it at one point or another."_

_"None of us ever managed __that__!" Andrew whispered to Glen who shook his head. "He's speaking it too quickly to even listen to it!"_

_"I fear even if one of us would speak in slow motion and use perfect understandable English – you would not understand any of our words at all as you never listen to anything we tell you, Mr. Bennett." He smirked at the shocked faces around him._

_Yes, definitely in a better mood than he had been in an hour ago._

**Little robe**

**Chapter ****fifteen**

**How to form a class**

"Master Severus will be here after his afternoon classes to pick you up, Hahkethomemah." Wohehiv said, slowly laying his hand onto the boy's shoulder before he got up to leave. "This way you can have dinner with your house. Lay down and try to rest some more until then, you still need as much rest as you can get and it will be at least three more hours until Master Severus will be here to collect you. Oh, and if you wish having him shocked – you might try calling him Mokatavatah one day. I just suggest that you do hide your laugh then." He added before walking out of the door.

Sighing Harry turned onto his side and closed his eyes, really trying to sleep. For a moment he wondered what Mokatavatah might mean, but then he shook his head and sighed. It didn't matter what it meant, it wasn't as if he ever would call Snape _that_, he wasn't suicidal after all! And not to mention that – he was just too tired and there really wasn't anything left to do except of sleeping – without success however and an hour later he just sat up, not sure if he should feel angry at himself, frustrated, or simply resigned and with a huff he brought his legs over the edge of the bed and then gingerly stood up – only to realize just how weak he really was. So, Snape had been correct all the time, it seemed, as were Wohehiv. He was weak!

Slowly he stood and moved to the bathroom, feeling shaky all over and hesitantly he stood in the front of the mirror, just looking at the reflection that looked back at him. Dull, green eyes with dark circles beneath them in an almost white and sunken face, and quickly he looked away, disgusted at the image, and then turned, got into the shower.

How was it that he felt so weak these days? He never had felt so weak, he always had managed rather well! Why now? Why wasn't he able controlling his strength and hiding his weaknesses like he always had done for years after years?

Sighing with frustration and shaking his head he quickly finished his shower and then dressed himself with the clothes that were laid out atop the stool in the corner of the bathroom, Jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie besides of the cloak and fresh underwear, wondering even why Snape had bothered bringing him fresh clothes to begin with. However, even that small action seemed to exhaust him and going back into the main room, not really sure what to do with himself, he just sat onto the edge of the bed and fought against the impulse of simply getting back into it, pulling the blanket over his head and going to sleep. He just was too tired for his liking, it wasn't normal!

"It is to be expected that you are tired still, Mr. Potter." Snape's voice came from the doorway and he looked up startled at the man that just had entered and was now crossing the hospital wing, apparently – again – reading his thoughts. "And no, it has nothing to do with weakness. Are you ready to go?"

Harry just looked at the man that had been his potions professor for four years now – and his tormentor – for a moment, and then nodded his head. Yes, he was ready, at least as ready as one could be and he simply didn't know what else to say. There wasn't anything to say after all. He was ready to go back to struggling through his day by day life.

Snape too nodded once, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the boy and then he extended his hand towards the entrance door, leading his ward out of the room. He knew that Potter was not only feeling tired but that he thought himself being weak and he also knew that the teen believed he would be thrown back into his all day life just to have to struggle through it alone.

He would show him that this wasn't the case. He was to go back to his all day life, yes, but he would not have to struggle through it alone, he, Snape, he would stand by his side to lead him and to catch him if necessary.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He had been released for dinner so that he could be with his house before he had to go to bed and he was allowed to go back to classes tomorrow. Well, at least Wohehiv had kept true to his word and had not kept him from classes for longer than two days, and Snape had brought him his school books even.

He had read a lot in them, instead of the book Snape had bought him first and that had lain abandoned on the bedside table.

It wasn't that he didn't like the book, he just still didn't understand why Snape had bought it for him in the first place and he felt guilty about it, about Snape having bought all those things to him. The man shouldn't have done so. Of course he didn't have too many money left at Gringotts and he knew it, but he would have managed. He always had managed somehow and he would have managed this time as well. Snape simply shouldn't have paid so much money for him.

But well – he was burning with guilt anyway, about Cederic's death, about Sirius' death, about his parents' death, about Snape having to be here with him instead of at Hogwarts where he surely would have preferred being, about Snape having had to waste time and potions on him after he'd been so stupid a few days ago and about Snape buying all those things for him.

He always felt guilty nowadays and he always felt it as if his insides were trying to crawl out of him. He had a lump in his throat that never went away.

And what added to his guilt right now was the fact that he tried avoiding not only conversation with the other students in his house, not wanting to talk to anyone despite that Snape had told him he had to, but that he also tried avoiding them at all, their company. And he felt horrible about it.

It wasn't their fault after all, it was his, and his alone. He'd been the one who had earned the abuse, he'd been the one who didn't tell them, he'd been the one who always got into trouble and who always got others into trouble. He was at fault, he and he alone. He always caused problems. And honestly – he simply should have hidden it better; he should have … he should have done something else, _anything_ else.

Groaning he ran his hand over his face.

He was still weaker than he had first realized and soon after dinner, after they were back in their house and now sitting in the spacious living room, he found his eyelids growing heavy.

Severus Snape, Potions Master and now history of magic teacher and head of the music class watched Harry Potter close, his eyes nearly narrowed and a frown on his face. He had told the brat that he wanted him partaking in the evening routine, in conversations and games the other children played – and yet, Potter didn't heed his words, tried to set himself apart and avoid not only conversation but any contact at all, reading in the potions book Manuel had handed out to them a few days earlier. As if the brat hadn't read enough already during his stay in the medical wing, he mused. And it had all been school books he'd read – except for the first morning after he, Snape, had brought him the book he'd bought him.

And he knew that it had been an exception – caused by the lack of having any school books back then in the medical wing – because after he had brought him his school books, 'the wizard that trusted no one' had been laying abandoned at the bedside table. He simply shouldn't have brought him his school books to begin with, but he guessed that he was too much a teacher to deny any student his school books. He of course knew why the teen preferred his school books, and he knew that it was not only because of this strange new habit of Potter wanting to learn but because he felt guilty about it as well.

Staring at the pale face of the teen for a moment he wondered if he should make a point or if he should allow the boy's actions for now, contemplating his change of appearance. The normally so strong and wilful boy was now a broken shell of what he once had been, this was the only description he at the present time had. His green eyes tired in a pale and thin face with dark circles beneath them, thin and bony shoulders bent as well as his back while his arms lay listlessly over his stomach as he read in the potions book and his eyes seemed to drop at any moment – not to mention the yawning he tried to suppress every now and then.

Well, it actually was no wonder and he rather wondered _how_ in Merlin's name the boy had managed going on the way he had for the past three weeks to begin with. He had seen the child's body and injuries, all those scars and he knew what they meant, knew how tired and exhausted the boy still felt surely.

Merlin, there hadn't been much blood, of course not, most of the welts and cuts had been about to heal after all, but some of them had been infected or scratched open repeatedly when they had started itching upon healing and so yes, not only had there been the scars and bruises, the infected cuts but a few open ones as well. But that had not been the worst of it. The worst and definitely most dangerous had been the teen's ribcage being visible to a point where the bones bore into his skin – due to abuse, neglect and starvation at the hands of his relatives.

Not to mention the sentence with which Wohehiv had informed him about his additional tests.

_"There's one more thing, Severus."_ Wohehiv had said, his voice grave and heavy. _"He … well, my tests show that he was raped, and I fear more than once."_

But well, he already had known that, hadn't he? He already had known that the moment he had seen the boy's privates, bruised and damaged badly, and he already had known that the moment he had tried to undo as much damage as possible there. Someone who beat a child there in such a way, surely would not stop at rape. Merlin, he still wasn't sure even if the boy ever would be able siring children!

Getting up from the armchair in the corner he had been sitting in, reading 'Potions Weekly' while observing his students in their evening activities, he went over to the boy, kept standing for a moment in front of the boy who immediately looked up, unsurely, and he watched him for another moment.

"It is alright, Potter." He then said, keeping his voice quiet and calm. "Go ahead and sleep."

Keeping his eyes on the boy who hesitated a moment before giving a curt nod of acknowledgement he watched the boy leaving tiredly, again his shoulder slumped, more dragging his feet out of the room than actually walking he knew that Potter was not only physically tired but mentally as well.

He never accepted his students dragging their feet if it was out of laziness, telling then to lift their feet. But he immediately knew that it wasn't laziness why Potter dragged his feet right now, that it was tiredness, that the boy simply didn't have the energy left for lifting them. Setting one foot in front of the other and keeping walking instead of simply sitting down and never going up ever again was more important than lifting his feet right now.

He would have to work hard on the brat if he wanted him a normal teenager, he realized. But he had known this as well, hadn't he? Potter had been – _'strong'_ for the lack of a better term, until his breakdown, and now that this breakdown had happened, he couldn't keep up this strength anymore. It often happened to abused children, they kept up a strong facade to keep people from noticing, but the moment people _had_ noticed they lost this facade because it wasn't needed anymore, because people had already noticed. They didn't have to hide it anymore.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"I've a headache." Benson quietly said, lifting his hand to his forehead and Snape lifted his eyes from the potions journal he had resettled reading in, watching the fourteen year old for a moment. The brat rubbed his fingertips over his temples while grimacing and with a sigh he got off his armchair.

A drop of eucalyptus oil on the boy's temples, a drop of the same oil on a teaspoon of sugar and a glass of cold water would do the trick. He would send that boy to bed then too.

For a moment he thought about the day. They'd had transfiguration and charms in the morning and defense against the dark arts this afternoon. A day with three subjects one had to concentrate a lot, but as it was the beginning of the school year they most likely had just repeated the stuff from the previous year. For lunch they'd had sandwiches with cheese and salad and for dinner they'd had steak with either chips and ketchup or fried potatoes and a walnut dip. Frowning he looked into the direction of the living room.

It could be either the cheese or the walnuts that _could_ have caused the headache, he would have to find out which of the …

He actually dropped the glass he was holding as he heard a loud thud coming from the floor above and turning abruptly he knocked over another glass that fell from the counter to the floor. Drawing his wand mid step and waving it at the mess he left the kitchen, not even turning back to make sure he really had aimed correctly and the glass really repairing itself and floating back onto the table, the mess of orange juice vanishing from the floor. He simply assumed that he _had_ aimed correctly – he _always_ aimed correctly.

Hurriedly he strode out of the large room that was the kitchen and dining room at the same time, a sense of foreboding overcoming him as he even hastened his steps along the hallway and towards the stairs, nearly colliding with the house elf who obviously had also heard the loud noise.

Lifting his eyebrow at the small house elf, the Potions Master took the stairs two at a time, and turned into the corridor, hurried towards the last room to the right of the hallway and with a single muttered word, the door swung open even before he had reached the room.

His eyes automatically were drawn to the right when he entered, where Potter now lay crumpled on the floor in a corner and realizing almost instantly what had happened, the man strode over and moved the desk aside so that he had a bit more room before kneeling down and gently pulling the boy up until he rested with his back on his chest in order to ease his breathing.

"Take a deep breath." He calmly said even if he didn't feel calm at all while he at the same time snatched both of the small hands that pulled on the green hoodie the boy was wearing, realizing that the brat had already drained almost all of the remaining colour from his face, his lips taking on a blue tinge.

"C- … can't." The boy rasped out and the Potions Master tightened his grip on the boy's hands when he noticed the tear tracks that ran down the sunken cheeks.

"You can, Harry." He calmly and quietly said. "Calm down, relax and take a deep breath. It is only a panic attack and it will pass. Trust me, breathe in, now!"

And the boy did, for once doing as he was told and taking a breath, even if it was a rather hectic breath he took but Snape was satisfied.

"Very good, Harry." He said. "Just calm down and breath the way I do, you do feel the rhythm of my breathing in your back and now just match yours with mine. It is nothing else than you do when playing with others. You match your instrument with the drums that are giving the rhythm. Very good, you are doing fine, Harry. Music is not only music, music is an art while it is emotion and life at the same time. You can take it for nearly everything in life and right now I want you using it to match your breathing with mine."

Feeling that the boy did just this he took a few deep breaths, knowing that Potter would follow his example. The boy – and he was sure of this since he had heard him singing – was able feeling music, living music and breathing music and so he knew that he would manage matching his breath with his own.

"Exactly like this, Harry." He said, placing his hand at the boy's forehead and turning his head so that he could look into the face that still was pale but not as pale as it had been moments before, the lips not blue anymore and the boy all over seemed calmer, at least not panicking anymore. "You are doing this fine. What happened?" He then asked, hoping that Potter would be still upset enough to give an answer without thinking.

He didn't seem so lucky with this however and Potter was – even in his current upset state – able to use his brain as only a muttered "nothing" came as an answer. Sighing Snape stood up and pulled the boy with him, seated him onto the bed.

"No, Harry, speak with me." He strictly said, grabbing the boy's chin and turning his face into his direction. "You do not have to hide anything anymore. We already do know and we are here to help you."

But there wasn't an answer from the boy, nothing, just a deep sigh and the green eyes growing distant.

"It is time to stop blaming yourself for things that were not your fault, Harry." He said, a strange heaviness settling in his heart while he watched the boy sagging his shoulders even more, the young face becoming a blank mask as all emotions were once more concealed from view. "And this it has been what you have been doing, I take it, blaming yourself until you fell into a panic attack that kept you from breathing. It is time you stop blaming yourself as there is nothing to blame yourself to begin with. None of the deaths around you have been your fault!" Yes – that was the mask Potter always had worn, the question was – how had he, Snape, managed to not recognizing it throughout all those years?

Severus sighed and stood up and reaching into the pockets of his cloak he retrieved several vials, a dreamless sleep potion, a relaxing draught and a pain reliever, and then he reached them to the boy he just had seated onto the bed.

"Take these." He calmly said, knowing that the boy was too tired to partake in a conversation right now. "And then lay down and sleep. The dreamless sleep and the relaxing potion will ensure that you will sleep through without waking from a nightmare and the pain reliever will help you falling asleep to begin with – and do not tell me that you are not in pain, Potter, I can see it from a mile away."

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It was at one time or another during the night that Harry woke up and he had no idea what time it was but seeing that the room was in darkness except of the soft light coming from the fireplace, he assumed that it was late at night or early in the morning. He still was tired, but he knew that it had not been a nightmare that had woken him, he felt too peaceful for that and looking over the room for a moment before closing his eyes and going back to sleep he noticed that – once again – there was someone sitting in the chair by his bed, just like there had been sitting someone in the chair by his bed in the medical wing.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light, even if half asleep, he could make out the outlines of Snape next to him, wide awake and his dark eyes watching him. Again, like he had done in the medical wing, he wondered what the man was doing there. Surely he didn't need someone sitting with him? He knew that he didn't have a nightmare that could have drawn the Professor into his room and he simply was confused.

Snape lowered his head to one side slightly, his dark eyes holding the hint of a question, but he didn't say anything, nor did he ask anything and Harry closed his eyes again. He didn't know what Snape wanted to ask him, he didn't know what Snape wanted of him to begin with and he didn't want to answer any question the man could have asked – or simply wondered about.

It didn't take him long however to fall back asleep.

Severus Snape kept his seat for another half an hour, until he was sure that the boy again was fast asleep, while he contemplated about the newest changes in his life, while watching the teen in his sleep.

Potter was laying on his side, curled into a small ball as if trying to protect himself from whatever dangers might come his way here at this new school that should be a safe haven to the boy and in the middle of the night, and thinking of the past few years, thinking of trolls, of three headed dogs, of basilisks and of enchanted diaries, of werewolves and escaped convicts that turned out as a godfather that then died, thinking of dementors and acromantulas, of dragons and tormenting curses – not to mention of the Dark Lord and a muggle family that had tortured the boy for years – no, it really was no wonder that Potter lay there, curled into a small protective ball, even in sleep.

What however was worse – and he knew it – the boy not simply was scared, and most likely would be for the reminder of his life, but he had given up, only living for one purpose – killing the Dark Lord.

**Flashback**

_"For the __reminder of the week you only will partake in your morning classes, Mr. Potter." He said while leading the boy along the corridor that would lead into the entrance hall and from there to the dining hall. "During the afternoons I expect you to rest at the least or take a nap at the best. We will see where we go from there coming weekend."_

_"I would rather visit the afternoon classes as well, sir." The boy rasped out and he stopped in his steps, turned towards the boy to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "I have to learn as much as I can and I do not have much time."_

_"Yes, you have already said so." He turned towards the boy fully now, stood in front of him. "However, I will not allow you to fight a war that is not yours to fight. I do not believe in prophecies and I will not allow Dumbledore to use you as a weapon. You are a fifteen year old boy and you are my ward, Mr. Potter. You will study, yes, but not for the benefit of throwing away your life while the adults around you are sitting back and twirling their thumbs while drooling and expecting a child to fight their wars. This is not your burden to carry and I will not allow you doing so."_

_"I don't suppose it matters much." The blasted brat slowly said, shrugging his shoulders and again – looking defeated. _

_"What matters, Harry, is that you are taken care of for once." He growled darkly. "And I do intend on doing just that. Like it or not, you simply will have to deal with it."_

**End flashback**

He didn't know what exactly Dumbledore had told the boy, but he knew for sure that he had told him of the prophecy and he even was sure that he had told him that only _he_ could end the war – and therefore the suffering of the wizarding world, that only _he_ could end all the deaths the Dark Lord had caused and would cause. He wouldn't even put it behind Dumbledore if he had told the teen that he was responsible for all of this – because the boy believed just this and it had to come from somewhere.

He would make sure that the boy learned – he neither was responsible for the deaths the Dark Lord caused, nor was he to fight or end a war that was not his but the adults' to fight. He would make sure the boy would learn how to live again, and to live a life for himself, not for others. He would make sure that the boy would not end up like him, Snape.

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Well, he had made sure that Potter had taken the potions and he had waited until he had lain down before he had gone back to the kitchen to fetch the eucalyptus oil and a teaspoon with sugar. He had gone back to the living room, offering both to Benson with the question which one he was allergic at, walnuts or cheese, but the boy only had looked at him stupidly, not even knowing what he wanted of him.

He had told him that he would make a few tests during the next days so that in future Benson would know which food he would have to avoid and then he had sent the boy to bed. He had looked in on Potter after that and with some satisfaction he had seen that this brat too already had been asleep.

He had been sitting with him for a while, watching the boy in his sleep until Potter had woken once and gone back to sleep shortly after before he had left the boy's room to go to bed himself.

This morning both boys had been looking much better and he had been satisfied with the situation. Coleman, Hollister and Edwards had been on time since the trouble they'd been in on their first day, Glen seemed to be more comfortable around him now, most likely having gotten used to the fact that he was an apprentice now and even if Potter still was the first one to appear and then helped laying the table without even asking what he could do – the boy seemed more relaxed today than he ever had been since their stay here.

"I want you to sing this chant, Mr. Potter." He said while waving his wand and the text of the chant they had been learning during the past two days appeared at the wall in dark letters even if he was sure that the boy knew the text as Glen had brought it over to him while he had been in the medical wing. "Glen will accompany you on the piano."

The day had gone by just as well. He'd had first his music class and then the literature class in history during the morning and in the afternoon the drawing class had asked him about history concerning wizarding arts what had led to an animated discussion for nearly two hours which he actually very much had enjoyed.

"What?" The boy asked, startled, before looking at him perplexed. "Why, sir?"

"So I can hear your voice." He said, lifting his eyebrow, barely keeping himself from shaking his head and calling him an imbecile. The boy was in the music class, so surely it wasn't so absurd that he wanted to hear his voice at one point or another.

"But I can't." The teen answered, shaking his head with a helpless expression on his face, causing Snape to frown.

"What do you mean, you cannot?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the child.

"I can't sing." The boy explained as if it were the most logical thing on the earth and his frown deepened.

"And that would be – why?" He asked, lifting his eyebrow and folding his arms in front of his chest.

"I don't know." Potter blinked at him, clearly not understanding what he wanted of him. "It'd just sound horrible."

"On the contrary, Mr. Potter." He said, his dark eyes never leaving the boy's pale face.

"It is!" The boy insisted and he could hear the anger in his rough and whispery voice.

"It is not!" He growled darkly. "I actually have heard you singing already, a few days ago, and therefore I do know that you _have_ a voice and you are able to not only keep a tone, but to use it well."

"No! It's scratchy and weak and you just want me to fail, like always!" And with those words – for which he couldn't even blame the boy – he turned and started running towards the door.

"Potter!" He sharply said and indeed the boy stopped, kept his position, frozen, not even turning back towards him but keeping his back towards the room, his shoulders tense and rigid.

He looked over at Glen and gave him a curt nod to just start playing the piano and even if all of them were looking from him to Potter with their mouths hanging open, his apprentice had enough control over himself to start on the melody – luckily for himself. He had no use for an apprentice that wouldn't be able to act upon his orders, never mind the situation.

And then he just waited, knowing that Potter would start singing, his eyes trained on the tense and rigid shoulders and back of the boy.

He had heard him, three days ago, and he had heard the love to the music in his voice that he'd had under perfect control. Back then he only had accompanied the guitar with his voice and he was sure that he had concentrated solely onto the instrument and not on his singing. Now he wanted to know what the boy was capable of if he actually concentrated onto his voice alone.

He knew that Potter would start singing.

And indeed, a few moments later he saw the tense shoulders relaxing a bit, noticed the boy's head going upwards a bit, and then he heard the boy starting to sing, softly at first but slowly growing louder, more confident, and silently he approached the boy from behind, somehow knowing that the boy would have his eyes closed.

"Open your eyes and look at me." He whispered while he passed the boy and stepped in front of him.

Green eyes met black ones and for a moment he could see the hesitance in the boy's pale face, the fear and the wish to just stop and run, the fear that he would fail and that he would be laughed upon, that he would be ridiculed. He even could hear this slight hesitance in the teen's voice and calmly he held up his hand, his palm upwards, to indicate that he should go on, that he should continue. And the teen did, while his gaze wandered to his hand automatically, most likely out of fear of what that hand might do if he didn't watch it, maybe just so he didn't have to look at him, Snape, maybe out of a complete different reason – he didn't know yet, but the boy _watched_ his hand and slowly he started to move it to the soft and slow music, keeping it as open as possible, as calm as possible and as unthreatening as possible.

And still the boy's eyes followed its movements.

Yes – the child didn't know it yet, but his voice was indeed incredible while he watched his hand, even if it was just out of fearing this hand, watched its movements and slowly he even started to react to its signs. Experimentally he swerved from the original tone a bit and – even if the boy most likely had never learned how to follow a conductor's instructions – he followed.

Slowly the chant ended and again he experimentally swerved from the original music, signing him to hold his tone before he had him stopping and then there was silence in the room, a silence so deep, it nearly was like a thick mist wavering through the room, while both watched each other, the man and the boy, the man with something he hadn't felt in a very long time, pride, and the child with something he was so very used to, unsureness.

Minutes even passed, minutes during which the other students grew nervous, exchanging questioning looks, while Snape's mind seemed to race – while at the same time not thinking one clear thought at all, his thoughts being more emotions than real thoughts at all, while Harry at the same time didn't know what to do at all, not even daring to move or to look aside, while he wondered what might be wrong with Snape.

"Do you even realize what exactly had happened right now, child?" Snape then asked, his voice soft and strangely warm and Harry's eyes grew large, startled, while he shook his head.

"I have heard you singing three days ago, even if you might not remember." Snape explained. "And back then I already realized that you have perfect control over your voice even while you were concentrating onto the instrument you were playing. I wanted to know what you would be able to achieve while concentrating onto your voice alone."

Considering the confused blinking he received, the boy didn't know what he was speaking of.

"You have exceeded my expectations." He then said. "You do not even have perfect control over your voice, it actually is incredible I have to admit. Do you know what you could do with your voice if it were trained? No? Then you will have the fortune of finding it out as I will have you as my lead vocal."

"But …" The child finally said, his voice back to a scratchy whisper. "I don't … I don't understand. Sir."

For a moment more he just watched the boy before holding his hand towards one of the empty stools, indicating that Harry should sit down upon it before he turned and addressed the class.

"You are the music class." He then started. "And I have watched you during the past few days, have had you acting on your own, but all of you have been rather uncoordinated. You have done what you wanted instead of what would make sense. Some of you have been able to act autonomously, others will need a lead. Some of you are able to master a music instrument very well, others are not while desperately trying nevertheless. Some of you have a voice that would be worth being used while not doing so, while others simply sound like a rusty bucket but are trying nevertheless. All in all you have not acted as a music class that is a group but on your own solely."

His dark eyes rested on all of them, one by one, while speaking, before they came to a halt at his apprentice.

"You, Glen, you are playing the piano, but you do not have your heart in it." He then said. "You however do play the transverse flute with a passion that is admirable. Why do you switch instruments when you have found yours? You, Brian, are trying to play the guitar while you manage the violin with the same passion as Glen does the transverse flute – luckily, as your voice indeed is horrendous. Keep true to this instrument and do not try messing around with another one you are not able to handle. While at the same time, you, Andrew, are a rather timid boy and you do not dare taking any actions on your own. You are able to handle the guitar rather well, but you do not handle it with any passion, while you have a voice that is worth being used. But with concentrating on an instrument that does not fit into your hands, you are robbing yourself off the chance of working on your voice. It would not do having you playing the guitar, while you would be able to carry away everyone with your voice."

He could see that they all had never thought of actually concentrating onto one instrument solely – or none at all – and working together as a group, that this all was new to them, and he wondered what exactly their previous teacher used to have them doing. Had he not tried to get his class together as an orderly group? And if not, then why not?

"You two, Sam and Terry." He then continued, looking over at those two. "You both like the drums, but honesty, Sam, you do not have the sense of rhythm that is necessary for this kind of instrument. The one playing the drums will have to lead the rhythm for the entire group. On the other hand, your voice is more than just acceptable, it indeed is nearly as impressive as is Andrew's. You on the other hand, Terry, you _do_ have an outstanding sense for rhythm and it would be a shame if I got you away from the drums, while your voice is as horrendous as is Brian's. Marc, you are a piano player with all your heart. Your voice is acceptable, but your fingers are incredible while they are playing with the keys and you even are closing your eyes while playing, handling this instrument blindly. I am sure that I could blindfold you here and now, and you still would be able playing the same you do while having your eyes on the keys – if not even better."

His dark eyes came to rest on Harry and again he looked at the boy for a long time, while again pride crept into the black orbs.

"And finally _you_ … Harry." He said and from one moment to the other he knew that it was the right decision and he gave in to those green eyes, knowing that he would have to accept the boy if he wanted … if he wanted to change anything. "Your vocal cords are damaged, seriously overstrained I guess – whatever reason for, we will discuss this at a later point – forcing your voice into a scratchy whisper while speaking. And nevertheless, while singing, you are not only forgetting yourself, you not only are carrying yourself away – as well as your audience – you actually do control your voice in a way that is unbelievable. Your voice is incredible, and you do not even know it yet. You might be able to play the guitar very well, but just like Andrew, you only are blocking yourself while concentrating on an instrument that is not your passion as it is using your voice in a chorus."

He took a deep breath before taking a step towards the boy, raising his hand when the boy opened his mouth, starting to – most likely – protest.

"No." He calmly said. "You do not even know what you have managed." He turned and looked at the text of the chant that still was written on the wall. "You are my student since four years, Mr. Potter." He then said, not turning back to the boy. "And the history between the two of us is legendary. And yet – we have managed getting along since we have left Hogwarts, since I got guardianship over you. You will have to trust me on this, even if you still do not know – maybe even not believe – what you have managed just a moment ago."

With a snap of his robes he turned back towards the boy, his black eyes fiery.

"For the first time in a very long time you have been the first student that actually made me proud." He finally said, his dark eyes piercing the boy that right now looked at him startled. "And you have done so not only with an unbelievable control over a damaged but yet incredible voice, but with doing something with a passion I never would have thought possible of you, even if you had refused just moments ago, out of fear of the failure I might wish to you. And most importantly …" He lifted his hand, again his palm turned upwards, and his eyes still never left the pale face. "… you have followed my instructions intuitively, without knowing what exactly I wanted you doing you have done it, even if I swerved from the original tone, you have followed and when I had you holding your tone at the end, you did, just by following the instructions of my hand intuitively. Do you not understand, child, the meaning of this?"

Sighing he realized that indeed – no, the boy did not understand. Or he did not dare to understand, thinking himself too worthless than anything else. For another few moments he watched this child and he didn't dare imagining what he would be able doing with his voice if it were trained – and the child a bit more confident, knowing his own value.

"Be it as it may – you, Mr. Potter, Harry, you will be my lead vocal." He said, his face going indifferent again. "Followed by Andrew and Sam. Terry, you will lead the rhythm with the drums while you, Marc will lead the melody on the piano together with Brian using the violin and Glen using the transverse flute, while you, Marc and Glen will be added background voices. This will be your parts within this class for the time being and we will see where it leads us."

"You're wrong, sir." He heard Potter's soft scratchy whisper and he looked over at the boy that looked at him with hard and disbelieving eyes.

"And that would be – why? Mr. Potter?" He calmly asked, knowing the boy's next words.

"Because I only would disappoint you, sir." The boy answered and his voice made clear that he really believed it. "You should take someone else, because I cannot make anyone proud – and surely not you, sir."

Without leaving his eyes off the boy he waved his wand and from out of nowhere the piano started to play, while a few moments later Harry's voice started to sing, again automatically.

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* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in ****Little robe**

_Learning another kind of language and learning to be a part of something__._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	16. Hedwig and the fir tree

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv – I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him – and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle – or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon – that for the AU-warning – but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously ****in ****Little ****robe**

_But never mind what – he was Potter's guardian and he would show the boy what a guardian was there for. He would show the boy what it meant to be cared for and he would teach the boy that he could ask for help, even if it was only from him. He still didn't fool himself, he still knew that he was a harsh man that was hard to please and had a bad temper, but he would manage – somehow. Because in one thing Acheron had been right – Potter needed him and he didn't intent to fail the child like Dumbledore had failed him, like all the other adults around him had failed him._

**Little**** robe**

**Chapter**** sixteen**

**Hedwig and the fir tree  
**

The new school wasn't so bad, he had to admit that. A lot of things were completely different from what he was used to at Hogwarts and the most welcomed thing was definitely that there was only a quarter of students what made sure that he hadn't as much interactions with them than he had at Hogwarts, it was easier to avoid them here. Even the classes were much smaller, only holding about seven to ten students each.

He soon had learned that there were a lot of places here as well where he could hide if he wanted, a lot of hidden alcoves or abandoned classrooms and there even was a garden behind the large building that was surrounded by large hedges and trees, and that was never visited by any students.

He soon had learned that Master Acheron came to that garden sometimes to walk a bit but here he too had found enough places to hide and he was sure that the old headmaster had never noticed him. Not that he didn't like the man or something like that. Master Acheron definitely was more distant as Professor Dumbledore had been, but he also was more natural or something like that … less meddling or something like that, he didn't really know how to name it. Master Acheron didn't tell him what he had to do or not to do.

It rather was that he somehow was scared of him, like of the teachers and of the other students. He didn't know why it had gotten that worse, seeing that back in his first year he had been able befriending at least Hermione and Ron, but over the years his fears had gotten worse and his only chance was to simply accept it, what should he do otherwise?

And well, here it wasn't so bad after all, as the classes were small enough, so what?

What also was new to him was the way they had their meals. Breakfast they held in the large kitchen in their house and it was an entirely new experience for him, sitting at the table with others, without serving them, without being screamed at or without being verbally abused, without having to watch others eating while he himself had nothing. It was like being a member of a family and the term "head of house" slowly but surely got an entirely new meaning. Because Snape really was their head of house, sitting together with them at the table and communicating with them, even trying more often than not lately to pull him, Harry, into those conversations as well.

But how should he partake in them? He'd never had such!

Of course he often had communicated with Hermione and Ron during meals in the great hall, but that had been different. There it had been a large table in a large hall where no familial ambience had ruled, there they only had been studentslike so many muggle students having lunch in a canteen. But here, here it was different. They were seven students only, and Snape, and they were sitting together at a table in a kitchen like a family. But he'd never had a family! How should he know how to behave in a family?

And then lunch in the great hall with the other students and the teachers. Unlike Hogwarts, where those meals had been more fun-making, here they were times of debates and discussions about all sorts of topics, the adults sitting amongst the students and so there was no barrier between them. They really were more like a family that was sharing a common meal, that was learning together or that was playing games together in the evenings and he even soon learned that he liked most of the others who were in his house. They were perfectly fine children and teenagers.

And nevertheless – he knew that it wasn't his place to make friends here.

He was here to learn and he was here to prepare for a war, never mind what Snape said – not to mention that he didn't even understand why Snape said otherwise to begin with, why Snape even cared! He didn't understand.

"Merlin!" Marc's voice got him out of his musings. "Double history first thing this morning! I'm still not used to Master Severus' teaching style. How have you survived him four years so far, Harry?"

"Huh …?" He made for a moment, not sure if he really was meant to give an answer. "Uhm … well, he's not so bad, I guess. He might act all dark and snarky to everyone but I guess deep down he's not so bad."

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Since the first morning none of the imbeciles had come late even if he didn't wake them anymore. He'd had to teach Andrew how to cast an alarm, but since then they all had been able getting up and sitting at the table by a respectable time, something he was grateful for as they really were old enough for getting up by themselves. The strange thing was that Potter and Glen still were the first ones to appear, Potter even before Glen sometimes.

This morning when he had entered the kitchen the blasted boy even had been about finishing laying the table. He hadn't commented on it though and had started the coffee instead, taking out the pan and starting on breakfast while the boy had taken the tea kettle and had started on preparing tea. He had watched the boy's movements and even if making tea surely was not a hard task for a fifteen year old, he had been able to see that the steps had been sure and experienced.

"Merlin!" He heard Marc softly groaning shortly after the boy had been sitting down at the table and he lifted his eyebrow. "Double history first thing this morning! I'm still not used to Master Severus' teaching style. How have you survived him four years so far, Harry?"

"Huh …?" Potter made and he nearly shook his head at the utter lack of eloquent language, the boy looking startled and as if he didn't know what to do when being asked a question. "Uhm … well, he's not so bad, I guess." The blasted boy then answered and he nearly groaned. "He might act all dark and snarky to everyone but I guess deep down he's not so bad." Yes, one might leave it to Potter to destroy one's reputation with one simple sentence.

"Destroying my reputation, are we, Potter?" He asked, leaning over to the blasted brat.

"Uhm … no, sir …" Potter quickly answered, just as quickly shaking his head. "In your hands even cotton becomes a sharp weapon." The boy then added, and after a moment of shock he couldn't help laughing out loud, again startling his students and especially Potter.

"With your sense of humour, Mr. Potter, you easily could have made it into my house four years earlier." He said the moment he had himself back under control, noticing the blush on the boy's face while Potter lowered his head and started his breakfast silently without looking up once again and he wondered why.

He himself had gotten used to the routine at this school rather quickly and he enjoyed the small classes that gave him the opportunity of not only watching each student closer but of getting deeper into any questions some of them might have. He felt as if this way the students actually were able learning more and easier than with the larger classes he'd had at Hogwarts so far and he nearly enjoyed teaching this way.

Potter on the other side had not gotten used to this routine so easily, yet – he wasn't sure if he ever had gotten used to the routine at Hogwarts either, seeing that he often had seen the teen alone or hiding away in an empty classroom instead of studying in the library or his dormitory. And the strange thing was – no one at Hogwarts seemed to have noticed, or cared, the students as well as the teachers accepting Potter's retreat and leaving him alone instead of trying to get the boy to partaking in social interactions, including he, Snape, himself.

The students here too soon had learned that something was off with Potter, that he flinched whenever someone tried to touch him, that small disturbances made him jumpy and that he rarely ever spoke, liked to be left alone. But nevertheless, even if they didn't know why their classmate acted the way he did, and even if they didn't understand it either – they every now and then tried to get Potter into conversation or tried to get him partaking in their games.

Well, he would see how this would turn out and he guessed with getting the music class into a group together, he had set a base that would allow Potter learning closer interaction.

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"As you seem to feel yourself unable of following the simple rules within this class, Mr. Lamarck, I suggest you write an essay about them, three feet and to be handed in by Monday morning." He said, leaning close to the blasted boy's desk.

"Why?" The idiot boy asked back, looking at him defiantly. "I've enough other things to do during the weekend."

"This was not a request, Mr. Lamarck, but an order!" He hissed angrily before straightening up and addressing the entire class. "Now, anybody able telling me what you have noticed while considering the unforgivables we have discussed during the last lesson?" He asked, walking back to the front of the class before turning, looking the class over.

"Yes, Glen?" He then asked upon a few hands that had gotten into the air.

"Well, they're dark spells that originally had been invented for something good and so I guess that they originally had been light spells that had been _turned_ into dark spellsat one point or another." His apprentice answered.

"That could be a realistic possibility, and you are coming close, Glen, but not quite too close." He said. "What is your opinion, Andrew?"

"'M not sure, but I noticed that they all had been invented at least two hundred years ago or in case of the killing curse five hundred years ago even, that they all were forbidden between 1943 and 1951, and that they all had been forbidden because they'd been misused by dark wizards." The boy answered. "So I wondered if maybe those dark wizards, and I guess that you meant followers of Voldemort as they reigned England at that time, had chosen those spells because they _were_ so old, what causes the question of them being easy to turn dark because they are so old?"

"A very well thought through question, Andrew." He said, noticing Potter shaking his head with a sigh before leaning his arms onto the desk and his head tiredly over his arms, closing his eyes. "And you too have come very close to the answer, not to mention that you really seem to have thought about it very intensely what gains you five points. It also could be a realistic possibility as well, but I fear that Harry however has a different explanation. Harry?" He then asked, still not really used to calling Potter by his given name, going over to the boy's desk and looking down at the teem who lifted his head and looking up at him startled, just like last time he had asked _him_ a question in class, before slowly and with a sigh straightening up.

"I don't say Glen or Andrew are wrong, sir!" The boy said defiantly and he clearly could see that Potter was scared. He just wasn't sure if the boy was scared of Cunningham and Bennett for giving contradiction to their words or if he was scared of him, Snape, for having laid his head onto the table – or of speaking in front of the class at all.

"And I did not imply that you did." He quietly said, looking down at the teen. "I just asked for your opinion."

"I don't think that there are _'good'_ spells or _'evil'_ spells, sir." Potter finally answered after taking a deep breath and then releasing it slowly. "I don't think that a spell itself could be dark or light and the ministry classifying them as such is utter rubbish. A spell is a spell. I think it's the caster that is dark or light, not the magic itself as magic is simply that, magic. Magic has been in our world since millions of years, but wizards are there since only a few thousand years and as any human being can choose being good or evil, it's them choosing the magic for doing good or evil."

There was no sound that disturbed the silence in the classroom and all eyes lingered at Potter who seemed to get smaller and smaller in his seat. He himself looked down at the boy, utterly stunned at the answer the blasted boy had given and it took him a moment until he was able collecting his senses.

"That is correct, Harry." He said, wondering if the blasted brat always had been able to use his brain in any other subject than potions. "It is not the magic that is dark or light as magic indeed has been present on earth since the very beginning, but it is the wizard itself that chooses to use the magic for dark or light purposes as any human being is able to choose being good or evil, the only living being on earth that is able doing just that and therefore the only living being on earth that is able destroying its own race once day. You as well have gained yourself five points."

He gazed at the boy for a moment longer, watching the frustrated expression on the pale face before he turned and waved his wand towards the parchment he had pinned at the wall beside the board to add the five points to Bennett and Potter, while he at the same time wondered why the blasted Gryffindor was frustrated in the first place. He'd answered a question correctly and he'd gotten five points even!

"How unfortunate, Potter." He heard Lamarck whispering a moment later and he turned just in time to see the boy leaning over to Potter's desk. "Having to acknowledge that the spells that had killed your parents were light spells."

"Do you see this tree outside, Mr. Lamarck?" He asked, rushing over to the boy and leaning his hands onto the desk, leaning threateningly close.

"Uhm." The idiot boy made after rearing back, startled, looking out of the window and he lifted his eyebrow at the brat. "Yes, why?"

"Because I wish you to leave my class and visit your head of house right now." He growled darkly. "And the moment this tree bears leaves again, you may re-enter my classroom."

"But … that's a fir tree." The boy said, frowning at him and actually looking up at him, blinking stupidly and not understanding.

"Exactly." He answered while straightening back up and extending his hands towards the door, watching the impertinent teen slowly taking his book bag before leaving and the Potions Master's dark eyes followed the boy's movements until he had left and closed the door behind him with a slam. His dark eyes had noticed the angry look the boy had thrown towards Potter when he had crossed his table and he knew that he would have to keep an eye on the situation.

Well, he knew that Master Dmitry would not be pleased upon his student being thrown out by him, Snape, and as the Russian teacher definitely was a grumpy man to begin with, he was sure that Lamarck would face at least detention if not worse – and would be blaming Potter for it.

"Remain behind for a moment, please, Mr. Potter." He said at the end of the lesson and the boy shuffled towards his desk, looking lost and guilty for all he could tell and he wondered why the brat would look guilty as he knew – Potter had done nothing wrong today. So – was it simply the boy's lack of self assurance that made him looking guilty without having done something? Or maybe because he for years had accused him of things – and hadn't been the only one doing so by the way, considering his upbringing by relatives that had neglected and abused – not to mention raped – the boy?

"You do look tired, Mr. Potter." He said, remembering the way the boy had laid his arms onto his table and his head atop his arms. "Are you sure that you are ready for your next class?"

"Of course, sir." The boy quickly answered, a bit too quick for his liking and he remembered their conversation they'd had in the hospital wing on Monday evening. Potter was desperate to visit his classes, all of them, and for a moment he narrowed his eyes at the boy, regarding his appearance but then he sighed.

"Very well." He answered. The boy _looked_ tired, but he always looked tired nowadays and he guessed that simply getting up and through his day would tire him out, even without visiting any of his classes at all. There simply seemed no energy left within the boy and considering the state he had found him in not even a week before, it was no wonder. The brat desperately needed a therapy and he made a mental note to speak with Wohehiv about that. "But I expect you to retreat to your room the moment you feel that you won't manage, did I make myself clear on that?"

"Yes, sir." Came the answer he had known would come and he also knew that the idiot child would not heed his order.

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Entering the headmaster's classroom, Harry felt more than a bit nervous. At Hogwarts it hadn't been standard Dumbledore teaching a class. He only had done so if there hadn't been any other choice, when too many teachers had been ill or something like that. And now here he was, having his new headmaster as a regular teacher too.

Well, he'd never had troubles with transfiguration so far – so, he guessed he would manage without shaming Hogwarts or Snape in front of Master Acheron – at least he hoped so. He was nervous though.

"I've never eaten a student, Harry." The old and wrinkled wizard said, pointing at a desk that was behind Simon's and he went over to this one, feeling uncomfortable with sitting behind the boy who had been thrown out of Snape's class because of him, Harry. Why did everyone insist on him sitting closer to the front anyway? At Hogwarts the teachers never had cared where he'd been sitting. Why was it important here? And why had Snape thrown the other boy out in the first place? Not that he minded, the boy was a git, had gotten into trouble with the teachers more than once so far, and with other students as well, but he also knew that Simon would go against him the moment he had him alone and in a dark corner and that was nothing he was looking forwards to.

"You better keep from turning, Simon." Master Acheron said, as if he had read his thoughts and upon looking up he could see the boy turning back towards the front. "And leave Harry alone. It is your own fault that Master Severus has thrown you out and neither is it the first time you get into such troubles either."

Acheron Sieves watched Harry Potter sitting down at the table he had pointed at, looking not only uncomfortable at having to sit so close to the front but scared at sitting directly behind Simon as well. Well, Severus had already sent him a note with what had happened in history of magic this morning and so he could understand the fifth year's fears.

He generally had noticed a pattern in the boy by now. One he didn't understand, but one that was there nevertheless.

The teen had fought against a mountain troll in his first year, against a basilisk in his second, and a dragon in his fourth year. He had managed surviving – and winning – the triwizard tournament and he had faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters at the end of it. So surely no one could call that boy a coward or a weakling, but nevertheless – he was scared of not only the other teachers but his fellow students as well and therefore he was sure that they could speak of a social anxiety. And well – considering what he had learned about the boy's upbringing, it was understandable even.

For a moment he wondered what Severus would do about it. It was clear that the Potions Master cared about that boy and he was sure that – despite the animosity he had been able feeling between the two of them at the beginning – it was not simply because Harry was Severus' student. There was more behind the scene, they were starting a bond.

Well, he would have an eye on the situation but he would allow Severus handling the situation, like he always did with his teachers. They were adult persons who had learned and who had enough experiences with the children they were entrusted with and if they needed advice then they would come to him and ask. But he would have an eye on the situation.

And he would have an eye on Simon as well. That boy too was a riddle to him.

Simon had come to the Academy of Arts with twelve, a year later than was normal and already in his very first week of attending first year he had been in trouble with Dmitry because he had stolen from another student. It hadn't changed from then on and he often had wondered what was wrong with Simon. He of course had contacted the boy's parents and had asked for a talk, but thy never had reacted in any way.

They were witch and wizard and so they surely had gotten all the owls Dmitry or he had sent, but it was as if they simply never cared. Wohehiv secretly had cast a diagnostic whenever Simon cam back from his holidays, just to be on the save side, seeing that no one else seemed to care, but they never had shown anything.

"Transfiguration with living animals is a very dangerous branch of magic." He said, starting his lesson the moment they finally had all settled down for the class. "And it is so dangerous because if we make a mistake, then it is the creature that will suffer and so we only will start doing so the moment you reach your NEWT level. But we will start transfiguring dead objects into living animals this year. The animals we will be transfiguring of course are not alive as they stem from a dead object and therefore nothing can happen so far if you make mistakes, they won't suffer as they are just that, dead objects brought to occur alive. So, if all of you will take out your transfiguration books."

There was a lot of movement and chatter while the children got out their books, and he watched them patiently until there was silence again.

"We of course have not done transfiguration from a dead object into a living animal by now, but we have covered the principles of the subject at the end of last year." He continued, going down the aisle between the desks. "Allow me to repeat what we have covered last year. As you might remember, you have to do nothing else than imagining the animal you wish your book to become. The only tricky thing is that you have to imagine the animal really well or it won't work. You have to imagine not only the face or the form of the animal but you have to focus onto its eyes, its fur or plumage, its skin and its legs, the claws and anything else that is so significant for the particular animal you wish your book transfiguring into. I take it that at Hogwarts you have not covered this particular subject yet, Harry?" He asked upon coming back to the front and passing the green eyed boy's desk.

"No, sir." Harry answered him and again he noticed the respect the child had learned displaying. "That is next year's stuff at Hogwarts, but your directions seem clear and I am sure that I will manage, sir."

"Very well, Harry." He smiled, interested in the boy's display of magic. He'd had the boy in transfiguration during last week's lesson in which he'd had repeated last year's stuff only, and he had done well then. It would be interesting seeing the child doing magic that was new to him and so he gave an encouraging nod.

He watched Harry taking a deep breath before closing his eyes and then slowly releasing it, relaxing as he did before he lifted his right hand and held it midair for a moment. He frowned when he noticed that the boy did not use a wand but started channelling the magic through his hand and for a moment he was about to interfere, to stop the boy.

It was a dangerous thing, channelling one's magic through his hand instead of using a wand. It was not only more tiring, but it also was dangerous, the boy could burn his hand severely if it was done incorrectly and that was not the worst that could happen even. And Harry was a fifteen year old boy only.

But he didn't interfere, just drew his own wand and held it at the ready to react the moment he saw something going wrong. He didn't know why the teen didn't use his wand but the way he had taken a deep breath, the way he had closed his eyes and then relaxed showed that he was preparing himself for channelling the magic through his hand, that it wasn't the first time he did this. He surely would need to have a word with Severus about that.

A moment later the boy curled his wrist before flicking it in an upwards movement and then opened his fingers at the same time his hand became still, holding them there over the surface of the desk, over the book, that slowly started transforming and then became an owl with a sharp _'plop'_ from one moment to the other, a beautiful, white snow owl, sitting at the desk where just a second before a school book had been laying.

He took a step closer to the boy, ignoring the gasps the other students gave away and he was just about to compliment the student for his success, taking in the small smile on the boy's face when he noticed that the small smile was a sad smile that just a second later turned into a pained smile before young Harry got up with a whispered "Hedwig" on his lips and then left the classroom in a mad rush.

For a moment longer he stood there, staring at the door the boy had not even closed when he had stormed out, but then he waved his own wand with a muttered "expecto patronus" and a moment later a silvery white reindeer appeared.

"Take this memory and bring it to Severus." He quietly instructed his patronus after extracting the memory of what had just happened from his mind and handing it over to the reindeer. "Tell him to ask the school itself where Harry is residing at the present time. Go now."

And then the patronus reindeer disappeared from the classroom.

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For a moment Snape frowned at the reindeer that had appeared in his office and he wondered whose patronus it might be. He knew that it wasn't Wohehiv's, the Indian's patronus being a hawk, and he knew that it wasn't Master Manuel's either, seeing that the patronus from the young potions teacher was a – well, some kind of mouse he had called an alpine shrew. He'd seen it once when Manuel had called his patronus to inform the headmaster about them being late for a teacher meeting as they'd been brewing together and had to bottle the potion first or it would have been destroyed.

A moment later the reindeer opened its mouth releasing a silvery strand and the Potions Master drew his wand, caught the strand he immediately recognized as a memory and with another wave of his wand he had it displaying in front of him at the same time.

It was Acheron teaching transfiguration and allowing Potter to transfigure his book into an animal and he frowned at the display of wandless magic the boy did. Was it that Acheron had wanted to show him? Surely it would have been not too late showing him this – or telling him – after classes.

But then he noticed the sad look Potter cast at the animal in front of him, the painful look and again the question came to his mind – where was Potter's owl? And his wand, by the way? A moment later Potter murmured his familiar's name and then ran out of the classroom.

Alright, so he again had to chase after the boy, and with another flick of his wand he had the memory back in a silver strand.

"Ask the school itself for the boy's whereabouts at the present time." The headmaster's voice came from the reindeer's mouth and a moment later the patronus was gone and he growled at the empty space. Blasted thing! It also could have waited to take the memory back to its respective owner!

Frowning he cast his own patronus and the moment the silver white doe appeared he led the memory strand over to the vaporous animal, ordering it back to the headmaster before he left his office himself and went along the corridor. He already knew where he would find Potter – yet again!

Again he remembered seeing the memory with a fat man burning the boy's trunk, his books and his wand in what seemed to be a back yard and he was sure that it had been the boy's blasted uncle who had burnt Potter's wand and school supplies. But that didn't answer the question as to – where was the boy's owl? Had the idiot man somehow taken the boy's familiar? And what had he done with it? Surely he hadn't had it simply let free as the owl would have followed Potter this way. Had he given the animal to someone else? Had he locked it up? Didn't he know that a young wizard formed a special bond with the first magical animal he got as his familiar?

Entering the guest quarters they first had inhabited when they had come here Severus already could make out the boy's form standing at the window in the room the boy had been given back then, his hands leaning on the table, actually gripping the desk so hard that his knuckles went white while his head was bent and his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

"Potter." He calmly said to announce his presence, but he – of course – got no answer from the boy while he wondered why it was that Potter retreated this way whenever he was upset.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, but of course he still got no answer from the boy.

"Harry." He softly said, coming closer, slowly lifting his hand, gently squeezing the boy's shoulder and Harry glanced back up at him with tears clearly visible in the edges of his eyes – and again he could see.

The same fat man, presumably Dursley, with a gun in his hand … a loud bang … a horribly screeching noise and an equally horribly scream followed by another loud bang. Blood that trickled its way from a desk to the floor and finally the owl he had wondered about, laying at the base of a large cage, dead, and the boy, Potter, reaching through the opening, slowly and with shaking hands, taking the animal from the cage and running trembling fingers slowly through the feathers while the man's voice rang through the room like an echo: "I told you to keep that blasted bird quiet, it's all your fault!"

The teen looked at him with a face as white as the wall before hanging his head again and gripping the edges of the desk even tighter, and pressing his lips together Snape grabbed the boy's two hands by his wrists and almost ripped them from the desk, forced the boy to face him.

"Look at me." He hissed, suppressing his own horror. "Look into my eyes."

And slowly the boy turned his now tear stained face to the Potions Master, nearly choking on his own breathes.

"It is – _not_ – your – fault!" He said sharply, halting after every word. "You did – _nothing_ – wrong!"

"Should've kept her quiet!" The boy sobbed, trying to break free and he tightened his grip on the thin wrists.

"And just how could you have done this?" He asked, keeping his voice harsh for now. "It isn't as if you could have told her to keep quiet and she would have understood. Not even a magical familiar is _that_ intelligent. Your owl – Hedwig – she surely _was_ very intelligent from what I know, but nevertheless she only reacted out of her instincts."

"Dunno." The boy murmured, still trying to break free, even strengthening his efforts. "Should've done anything … should've …"

Potter's voice trailed off, and while his eyes were still so large at him he again could see, could see how Petunia and Dursley screamed at him for being a stupid idiot who couldn't do anything right, who was always causing trouble and couldn't earn his keep, who wasn't fit to live with decent people. He could see how the blasted man had beaten him, how Petunia had starved him, and how they had locked him into a cupboard, locked away like a prisoner.

"Hush, Harry." He gently said, encircling the boy with his arms and pulling the smaller body close, this way effectively keeping the boy from really breaking free. "It is alright, you could have done nothing and it has not been your fault! Your aunt and uncle never should have laid a hand at you – and not at your familiar either. What they did is unforgivable and it has not been your fault, child!"

"They … they were afraid." The blasted boy softly said from between the folds of his robes where he had the boy's head pulled towards his chest. "They never wanted me and they just were afraid."

"Do not attempt to defend them, Harry." The Potions Master said, swallowing hard, his voice rough and he took a deep breath to get his own emotions back under control before continuing. "There is no excuse for locking a child in a cupboard, for starving a child, for beating a child or for – raping a child, none at all."

"You … you've seen it …" Harry whispered, shocked over the fact that Snape knew more than he had been ready to admit, shocked over the fact that Snape even knew that …

And for a moment he wanted nothing else than to leave, than to scream at the teacher that it wasn't true, that … but then he just shook his head. He wasn't ready to talk about the Dursleys. Not now … not ever!

"They just didn't like magic, and they just didn't like owls either." He then said while the tears ran down his cheeks.

He could feel Snape gently carding his fingers through his hair and he could feel himself relaxing against the man's chest, within the man's arms, for once feeling that such a touch was not meant to harm him but to show him that he was a child still and he allowed this particular feeling washing over him – while Snape, Snape of all people, still carded his fingers through his hair and on thing was for sure – one of these days, he was going to ask someone why he always did that.

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Harry went to bed early that night, tired but finally feeling that for once in his life that there was someone who cared. Even if it was Snape. Maybe _especially_ because it was Snape. Where no one ever had cared about him, it was Snape now, Snape of all people, dark and cold and tough and snarky Snape who cared about him, who cared enough about him to tell him that he had made him proud, to provide him with what he needed, to speak to him and to listen to him – and even to touch him in a comforting way, to hold him and to give him a sense of safety – and he didn't understand.

In an odd way, he always had taken certain reliability from knowing that Snape didn't care about him. But that was slowly changing, and it scared Harry because he could see it – and because he feared that it would stop sooner than later, and because he knew that this would destroy him completely then.

He knew that he should stop it now, before it went that far, that he should stop it now before he had started depending on Snape caring for him too much, that he should tell Snape now what an unworthy freak he was and how bad he was, how ugly and how dirty he was – but at the same time he knew – he couldn't. It had felt too good being held by Snape like Dudley always had been held by aunt Petunia, being comforted by Snape like Dudley always had been comforted by aunt Petunia and being spoken to by Snape like Dudley always had been spoken to by uncle Vernon.

How often had he wished that uncle Vernon would not beat him but place a comforting hand on his shoulder for once, or speak to him and give him advice, tell him that he was loved or at least wanted, that he was proud of him. And how often had he wished for aunt Petunia comforting him when he had fallen or telling him that he had done something well or holding him after a nightmare. But it never had happened and now, now that Snape had given him that – he couldn't bring himself to tell the man how worthless he was, that he didn't deserve his care. Because he was sure that he would lose it and he was not ready for that yet.

Turning to his side he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and imagined the feeling he'd felt when Snape had held him, imagined being held by him right now too and with a content sigh he slowly drifted off into sleep.

Severus Snape was still sitting in the living room of the house long after all the students had gone to bed, in an armchair beside the fire and for a short moment he wondered why he never felt the need to shut himself off in his study here, why he was so content sitting in the common living room together with the teens that were his students, but that thought didn't hold his mind for long.

His mind at the present time rather was occupied by the thoughts about a certain green eyed Gryffindor that currently was sleeping upstairs in his own room.

With a sigh he leaned forwards and took the tumbler that still was filled with two fingers of his favourite whiskey and he shook his head at himself.

Potter, that boy – as brave as he actually was when it came to the Dark Lord, Death Eaters or creatures like a dragon, a basilisk or giant spiders – was all false bravado and casualness, trying very hard to seem grown up and not needy in any way, but he meanwhile knew enough about the child and the strange way his mind worked to spot from a mile away that it all was clearly an act only, a mask the boy displayed as a form of self protection.

Why had he never seen it before?

Harry Potter was nothing like James Potter had been. He wasn't a bully but he was the one being bullied. He wasn't the aggressor but the one trying to defend himself, and he wasn't the one running wild and destroying everything and everyone around him but – he was a low burning candle that was radiating a soft and calm glow.

Where the Dark Lord was a raging fire, drawing everyone towards him with his heat and light, while at the same time consuming those who were ready to come close and follow him, always searching for more to consume, for more power, for more strength and for more control, there Harry was a small candle, sitting in a darkened window all alone and patiently waiting for those who would see the small light and choose to enter the house – but never openly drawing anyone to him while he at the same time had the strength to set everything around him aflame and yet, containing himself, content with what he had without searching for more.

The boy barely had spoken since he came to this school but he _had_ and at least he knew now that it was a mental block and not a physical inability. Of course the continued near silence from the boy who barely spoke and only did so if being asked a question but never by himself, his voice a scratchy whisper still, it still worried the Potions Master but he consoled himself with the fact that the boy at least had started interacting with some of the others if being invited by them.

A quiet and silent child indeed – and a child he strangely felt proud of, felt the deep need to care for him.

Still cradling the glass of whisky, his thumb rubbing absently over the cold smoothness, Snape tried to recall when exactly this shift in his mind had happened, when exactly he had accepted Potter as a closer person in his life than being a simple student, when exactly he had chosen to lower his shields for that boy and let him in.

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That night Harry awoke to yet another nightmare and shot up in his bed with a hoarse scream that sent Snape striding into his room not ten seconds later.

"I didn't mean to yell." Harry quickly said, automatically pulling himself back against the headboard while watching the Potions Master warily. His uncle had not taken well to nightly disturbances of any kind, not that there had been many, but he seemed to have an unusually sharp hearing where Harry was concerned.

Snape stopped at Harry's words, mid-step and a dark expression crossing his face.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Potter." He said quietly and Harry relaxed minutely when he realised that he wasn't about to be yelled at, that Snape wouldn't beat him, and he released his breath slowly.

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* * *

**To be continued**

**Next ****time ****in**** Little**** robe**

_A __serious__ talk __between __one __teacher __and __one __student._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	17. a lesson to learn

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer:**

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I have changed a few little things things from the already online chapter number 17 - A lesson to learn - and so I will post this chapter anew … they won't be too notable changes, nor much added, but I thought them necessary anyway …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously in Little robe**

_That night Harry awoke to yet another nightmare and shot up in his bed with a hoarse scream that sent Snape striding into his room not ten seconds later._

_"I didn't mean to yell." Harry quickly said, automatically pulling himself back against the headboard while watching the Potions Master warily. His uncle had not taken well to nightly disturbances of any kind, not that there had been many, but he seemed to have an unusually sharp hearing where Harry was concerned._

_Snape stopped at Harry's words, mid-step and a dark expression crossing his face._

_"Calm yourself, Mr. Potter." He said quietly and Harry relaxed minutely when he realised that he wasn't about to be yelled at, that Snape wouldn't beat him, and he released his breath slowly._

**Little robe**

**Chapter seventeen**

**A lesson to learn**

The next few days went by and they went by with a lot of fights.

Not those fights that were accompanied with loud words, banging doors and spoken restrictions, like he had expected the moment he had agreed to overtake guardianship of Potter - no, it had been those fights he had to fight silently, like watching the boy and making sure that he ate regularly, that he took a rest whenever necessary and that he slept during the nights.

Well, yes - generally spoken those fights _could _be carried out with loud words and banging doors, with spoken restrictions - _if_ the boy would refuse him openly. But he didn't. The boy did exactly what he was told. He ate - breakfast, lunch and dinner, and he even ate fruits between, and he took a rest in the afternoons, slept during the nights - that was: _he tried_.

The boy desperately tried to do as he was told, to eat and to rest and to sleep - he just wasn't able to do so the way he was supposed to and he, Snape, he had to carry out those silent fights to make sure that the boy would recover. Not a task that was too easy and not a task he liked too much - and neither did the child, he knew that.

And he _knew_ that Harry noticed the way he always watched him, scowling when he ate too little or didn't sleep enough, the way he pointedly looked at the boy's plate with a dark look or a soft "eat" on his lips. And the strange thing was - the boy always did. Where he had been sure that he would have to fight like devil over hell - he didn't have to, because the boy always tried to do his best, tried to please him, to make it alright and that was the strangest thing of all.

Harry Potter, the boy that had been the bane of his life, the boy that had been verbally abused by him for four years, this boy now tried to please him and to gain his approval, never mind how hard it was for the child - and he knew that it _was _hard for the boy to always finish his plate as best as he could despite feeling unwell and sometimes even ill.

Of course he provided the boy with the necessary potions like nutrient potions and stomach easing potions, but he knew that this only was helping a bit, not completely and that it wasn't a solution in the long run either. The boy would have to get used to eating regularly and adequate portions and such a thing, he only could achieve with working on the problem.

At the same time he had owled some of his contacts at the ministry of magic in Britain, knowing that the Canadian ministry of magic wouldn't be able to be of much help as Harry was a British wizarding child and British child welfare was responsible for him.

He secretly had asked for adopting Potter.

The problem was - as Potter's guardian, he could decide things right now, here in Canada, but the moment they were back to Britain in June - guardianship automatically would go back to the Dursleys. To his information the ministry had - upon the advice of one Albus Dumbledore - not even _informed_ the Dursleys about guardianship being transferred from them to him for the school year, something that - now as he knew about the old headmaster's intrigues - seemed strangely incorrect and he wondered how it was that he never before had seen how incorrect Dumbledore was working.

Something that would change.

He didn't know _how _he would change it yet, and he didn't know … he would have to think about everything first, but he was sure that something _would_ change. He would not allow Potter back in Albus' machineries.

What he however had noticed during the boy's struggling with his all day-life here and now was - it seemed to be music that was keeping the child upright somehow, that kept him going and that kept him fighting his own weaknesses and fears, his own self sometimes even. And again he couldn't help thinking that - the boy did this not for himself, but he did this for him, Snape, to make him proud, to gain his approval and to gain his care and - affection.

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"Stand straight and bring up your head." He softly ordered after he had listened to the boy's voice for a while now, had watched him for a while now as well, knowing that there was even more potential than what he showed, if just the boy allowed it and took a dare.

He waited for a few minutes, for two minutes, for three minutes, for five minutes even, but except for the boy straightening for barely half an inch while appearing more uncomfortable than ever and then sagging down again - nothing happened and taking a deep breath he lifted his hand to stop the boy in his work.

"Do you think that I might be ashamed of having you as my ward, Mr. Potter?" He asked, frowning at the boy that stood there in front of him, causing the boy and the other students alike to look up at him startled and not understanding. "An Answer please, Harry." He added when it was clear that the boy wouldn't give one.

"I … I don't know, sir." The boy answered then, and it was clear that - the child really thought so.

"I am _not_." He said after taking a deep breath. "You are always trying to appear even smaller as you are, as if you weren't already the smallest child in my class, trying to hide yourself away. But there is no reason for you to hide - you are a perfectly fine child and surely I am not ashamed of you - on the contrary. You have managed a lot of things since you are here - and for your past - as stupid as the things done by you so far have been, seeing that risking your life surely falls into the category of stupidity - I am sure you did just as well as you are doing now, even if I never acknowledged your deeds. You have fought mountain trolls, cerberuses, basilisks, dementors, werewolves and dragons - not to mention Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. No! Do not turn away from your class just because they learn something about you. These are things you _have done_. And even _if_ you had not done them - I would be proud of you because of what you have managed since you are here. And now stand straight and proud, and bring up your head!"

The boy - a fifteen year old teenager with the height of an eleven year old child - large eyed and startled into obeying by his words did as he was told and lifted his head, even if maybe it only might be to look up at him, but he did lift his head and he got at least half an inch taller than he normally was.

He waited for another few moments before he took a step towards the boy, slowly, carefully, his dark eyes never leaving the small form, until he stood in front of Harry, watching him calmly and slowly he lifted his right arm above the boy's head, ignoring the flinch the boy gave away and then he pointed his forefinger downwards, two inches above the boy's head.

"Straighten up." He softly said. "Until your head touches my fingertip."

The boy looked up at him questioningly, unsurely, like always questioning each and every new and unknown order he gave to him, but he still watched back calmly.

"Do it." He calmly said. "Now."

And slowly the boy did.

Of course he knew that the child did not do it because he was overly obedient, but only because out of fear. Out of fear he might beat him, he might start hating him again, he might be going back to making his life a living hell, he might stop caring. Even out of the fear he might starve him, might lock him into a cupboard or might do anything else the Dursleys had done.

But the boy did, slowly, straightening up until the boy's head touched the tip of his forefinger, the boy becoming taller than he ever had been.

"Stay like this." He then ordered. "And now try again."

At first the boy again looked at him startled, unsurely, but then he _did_ try again, like always softly at first, unsurely, but then his voice - again like always - growing, becoming more confident and finally reaching a point where he knew - the child didn't think anymore but only felt, forgetting his surroundings, forgetting whom he was with, forgetting time and space, the boy simply - being.

With the exception that this time not only his skin crawled at the child's voice, but the hair on his neck started to stand as tall as the boy himself did. Yes - _that _was it and he only could hoped that the child would be able to hear the difference himself.

But well - hope surely was nothing that he ever had believed in, and luckily so, as at the end, again, the boy looked up at him, questioningly, not understanding and slumping his form again, so - no, the boy had not heard the difference by himself.

"Music is a special kind of language." He whispered while passing the boy on his way out of their music room after the end of the lesson. "But you have to use it wisely and proudly - and _you_ of all people, you have the right doing so."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Sighing tiredly he went to bed, wondering where his life had started going so very wrong and wondering how he could fix any of what had been happening lately.

Well, if he had thought that he had taught the boy a lesson on that day, yesterday actually, a lesson on self worth and pride - well, then he had been wrong, very wrong indeed as he had learned just the very next day, today, actually.

It had been Master Acheron who had told them during lunch that in future - and with future the headmaster meant today - they were to partake in a physical defence class during the Saturday afternoons for the next two month - what meant that they would have this particular class today after lunch, the science and the theatre class being taught by Master Traianos and Master Cheng, the literature class, the language class and the drawing class being taught by Master Bassam, Master Kimya and Master Ragnar, and the music and the craftmanship classes being taught by Master Dmitry and Master Severus - _him_ - what caused him to groan in frustration.

Generally - he didn't have a problem with this particular kind of class as he always had been a wizard who did not only relay on his magical abilities but also on his physical skills. He always had thought it important to keep his body in form - what had been one of the reasons he never had taken one of the shortcuts from the dungeons to the great hall or other parts of Hogwarts but why he always had climbed the stairs three or four times each day, sometimes even five times on some days. And it also had been one of the reasons as to why Lucius and him always had started to fight dirty at one point or another during their training duels, to force the other into physical actions.

As much as most of the pure blood wizards would dispraise physical labour, Lucius and him always had known that they better did not relay on magic only, just encase that a magical core could be affected by something, or exhausted, or destroyed even, and without the magical core - a wizard, pure blood or not, could not do magic.

And so he had known that he would be able holding this class together with Master Dmitri and without making a fool of himself - he just had not liked it very much as he rather preferred staying in the background with _any_ abilities of his.

He hadn't been the only one not liking this particular class however, he soon had learned, Potter already during lunch apparently having lost his appetite and he'd had to point at the boy's plate a _few_ times with an ordered "no argument", causing the boy to eat his additional vegetables without much protest.

Well - unfortunately Potter's response to the physical defence class definitely had been caused by many years of his cousin Dudley and his gang in playing _'Harry hunting'_ and he unsurprisingly tended to escaping the situations totally, avoid contact, or make as small a target as possible by curling into a ball and protecting his head and chest - none of which would make an effective physical dueler.

Not to mention that the boy rather soon had understood how far off the others he was, the other fifth year students being able to learn the holds and other techniques from the beginning - not so Potter, the boy not even listening but turning and fleeing the situation from the start on.

He, Snape, he however had gotten angry when Master Dmitri had called over the boy.

Not at first as they were to teach all their students together and he had approached one of Master Dmitri's students as well to correct a stance or to correct a hold. The moment however he had heard the idiot boy screaming a blood-curdling "no" he had turned to see Dmitri holding the bloody brat.

**Flashback**

_"Release him." He softly said, but even he could hear the threatening edge in his voice and Dmitri looked up at him, startled, the harsh man's eyes widening comically for a moment before he slowly got off the floor, pulling Potter with him until both stood on their feet again._

_"Now, Master Dmitri." He growled, just as softly, calmly, while his dark eyes never left the other wizard - and Dmitri did, released Potter who scrambled backwards a few paces the small and thin form of the boy hunched and trembling._

_"I do hope that you not accuse me of - manhandling one of your students." Dmitri slowly said in his own barely noticeable Russian dialect, the man's English being nearly perfect and the other wizard's own dark eyes on him, Snape._

_"No, I do not, Master Dmitri." He answered, just as slowly. "But I do advise you on considering what exact student you chose for any demonstration next time." He calmly answered._

_"I had no intentions on showing a demonstration." Dmitri answered and he narrowed his eyes at the other wizard. "I wanted to teach your student a lesson, that was all."_

_"Then for future time I ask you to do so with any other student but not with this particular one." He growled and was just about to turn - when Dmitri's answer came._

_"So you will keep him a coward and a weakling, Master Severus?"_

_Slowly he turned back to the man, his dark eyes going hard and cold._

_"I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you do not have all information needed available before you accuse other people." He said, nearly seething with anger and turning to Potter who stood near the wall of the gym, out of the way and watching the scene with a pale face, Marc, Brian and Terry standing close while the other music students stood scattered around them._

_"Says who?" Dmitri asked and taking a deep breath he turned back to the man, knowing what the other wizard wanted._

_"You really think I will answer with the clichéd 'say I'?" He asked back._

_"So you are as cowardice as is your student!" Dmitri said, the man's dark eyes glinting. "Are you as weak as is he too?"_

_No one called him a coward!_

_And no one called him a weakling either!_

_And no one did so with one of his students!_

_Slowly he went to his students and upon looking at each of them for a moment he took out his wand and held it with its handle towards Potter._

_"Lose it, damage it or handle it with disrespect - and you won't survive it." He said his dark eyes burning into the pale face before he turned back towards Dmitri._

_"Sir?" Potter called after him but he ignored it. "Please, just …"_

_"I will not stand for any person scaring or hurting you, not even to teach you a lesson." He said upon sharply turning back and looking at the trembling form. "If there is a lesson to be taught, then it will be me teaching it. And right now there is need to - but not the lesson that you might be a coward or weak, because you are not - no, this lesson is for you to learn that as your teacher and guardian, I will fight for you if necessary." He then added and turned back to Dmitri who had watched him with his own dark eyes narrowed._

_He knew well that the other wizard understood._

_Dmitri waved one of his own students over to hand him his wand and a moment later the slightly older wizard had started a kick at his left side which he sidestepped easily and then lifted his eyebrow as if to ask - is that all._

**End flashback**

They soon had made a rough estimate of both their levels and soon after the fight had started for real.

It hadn't been a fight during which blood had been drawn or during which any of them had been injured. Neither Dmitri nor him had wanted such, he knew, it had been to teach a lesson - to all the students, in both their opinions, to Dmitri's class in the other wizard's opinion and to Harry in his own opinion. But it had been a fight that had been worth being fought, one that had not ended within the next two or three minutes.

His students too, they definitely had learned something, because it had been a fight that had been worth a fight he fought with Lucius Malfoy while it had not been a lesson for Dmitri to teach his class, seeing that it had been him, Snape, who had held the other wizard down until there had been a low growl of "you won" from the man - while he wasn't so sure if it had been a lesson learned by Harry either.

"Never call someone weak or a coward without knowing the person's background, Master Dmitri." was all he had whispered into the man's ear before releasing him, so soft so that none of the students had heard his comment - what most likely was the reason as to why Dmitri hat understood and accepted. They both had shaken their hands and then both had taken back their wands, Dmitri waving over his student and he, Snape, going over to Potter, preparing to leave the gym for today and he extended his hand towards the changing rooms.

How exactly the situation had gone out of hands after that - he didn't know exactly and he only could guess that the strain of being forced to the floor by an adult and then watching the fight while being entrusted with his, Snape's wand, had taken its toll on the boy - for the only thing he had said had been "let's go home, there still is a potion to brew for you, Harry" and then the boy had exploded.

**Flashback**

_"I'm sorry." The boy said, his voice not only the rough whisper but nearly choking at the same time and he frowned down at the brat._

_"There is no reason to be, Harry." He calmly said, sensing an emotional breakdown and he took a step closer. The boy at the same time took a step backwards and his frown deepened. Normally lately the boy would search him out for being close, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was safe in his presence - not so right now and a quick glance through the gym showed him that Dmitri had stopped on his way towards his students as well, the man's dark eyes on him._

_"I'm sorry!" The boy repeated, more forceful this time and his breath seemed to come more heavily. "I'm sorry that I suck in this class and shame you and I'm sorry that I suck at potions! I'm sorry that I'm not like Hermione who knows everything or like Malfoy who can even throw random things in cauldrons without exploding the classroom! I'm sorry you got such a worthless little idiot child for a ward! I'M SORRY!"_

_The last word was screamed even and then the boy turned and started running for the door._

_For a moment he stood there, turning over the information the had gathered just a second ago, but then he lifted his hand and a moment later the door that led out of the gym closed, just before the boy had reached it._

_Slowly he walked over to the child who tried to open it for a moment before turning back at him with large eyes._

**End flashback**

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He didn't really understand Snape.

He did understand why Snape had agreed to the fight - and Merlin, he had to admit that the wizard from Britain was damn good, he hadn't had such a good fight since years and for him it was clear, he would ask Snape for being his training partner once or twice a week - however, he also could understand why Snape was so overprotective of his student - of his ward, most likely he himself would have been just as overprotective, he was with most of his students after all, even with Lamarck - or maybe, especially with Lamarck.

Yes, the boy had gotten into trouble after Snape had thrown him out of his class, his punishment had not been lenient, his punishments never were, but in one thing he could understand Snape - if there was a punishment - or a lesson - or be handed out, then it was him - or Snape, in Potter's case.

He didn't even know _why _he had singled out the boy to begin with after he had seen him more fleeing the situation than defending himself in any way. He wasn't sure if it really had been to teach the boy a lesson while forcing him to defend himself by robbing him the ability to flee or if it rather had been to see Snape's reaction. He had watched Snape from the beginning on and he was sure that in the beginning Snape wouldn't have cared about the Potter boy being singled out by him. But now Snape cared and he wanted to know to what extend.

Well, Snape had shown a reaction and the other wizard's words had not left his head during all the fight.

"I will not stand for any person scaring or hurting you, not even to teach you a lesson." The man had told the trembling form of the boy and not for the first time he had wondered how it was that this boy was so small and thin, so scared and pale - he did have the boy in defense against the dark arts twice a week after all and so he knew that with magical defense - the boy was brilliant, and without a wand even. "If there is a lesson to be taught, then it will be _me_ teaching it. And right now there is need to - but not the lesson that you might be a coward or weak, because you are not - no, this lesson is for you to learn that I will fight for you if necessary."

He had not understood the man's words.

Why would Snape have to teach this particular lesson to his students? And this student was Snape's ward even, he was bound to know that his teacher and guardian would fight for him!

Any student would know that their teacher fought for them, if necessary with their lives, it was normal after all and he had known that Snape would fight against him the moment he had provoked the fight. But why would he have to make a demonstration out of this?

**Flashback**

_He only started to understand now while he watched the new scene of those two strange wizards from Britain._

_Snape stood there for a while, in front of the boy who just had turned and looked up at his guardian with large eyes, but then he reached out and grabbed the boy's chin. And despite the fact that he had made it clear that he would not allow anyone to hurt him - he was sure that the grip Snape had on the boy's chin was anything than soft. But well - Snape was a harsh man to begin with, as was he, Dmitri - what most likely had been the reason as to why he had not understood the man handling the boy with kid gloves._

_"You are an idiot child, indeed." Snape growled at the boy and he frowned. So - Snape was allowed to hurt the boy because he was his? Or what was going on with the man right now? "But not because you - suck - at this class or potions like you so eloquently have put it, but because you fail to understand what I have told you over and over again since you are in my custody. No! You will listen, Potter! How many children are there that have fought and survived a full grown mountain troll? I do know three only, namely you, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. How many children are there who have fought a basilisk and survived it? I do know of one alone, namely you, you idiot child and how many children do you know that have fought a bunch of Dementors? Again, I only do know of you having done so, successfully even, and how many children do you know of having fought a Norwegian Ridgeback and survived it? Again, I only do know of one, namely again - you! And no, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum and Miss Delacour have neither been children, nor have they been alone as they had help from Sprout, Karkaroff and Maxime. You have been alone in those tasks, a fourteen year old, and you have managed them and won the tournament. Tell me one more time that you are a coward or a weakling! You will have detention for the remainder of your school time - you are anything but!"_

_Alright - at least he now knew the reason as to why Sieves had accepted this boy on his school as normally Sieves never would have accepted anyone here that were as weak and as cowardice as this Potter boy seemed to be. And if Snape's words were true, then this boy really was anything but a weakling or a coward. He never had witnessed something like the triwizard tournament, but he knew what it was and he also knew that wizards had died in the competition. He also knew what a Norwegian Ridgeback was, namely a dragon and as a defence teacher he of course knew what a basilisk was - or a mountain troll, or Dementors._

_And if this boy had fought just any of those creatures - then he was a rather brave and strong wizard. But - why was he so shy and timid then? So - cowardice when it came to other students or the teachers?_

_No - he really did not understand._

_A moment later Snape released the boy's chin and instead pulled the boy's head against his chest, running his hand through the boy's hair and he frowned at the gesture, because he never would do such a thing, at least not openly. Such private interactions with his students were for no one to see, not to mention that he barely allowed any student such closeness to begin with._

_"Do you finally understand this?" Snape asked in a near whisper._

_"Isn't important anyway." Potter said with a shrug, lowering his gaze and he could hear Snape growling before - surprisingly the next thing he did - and he nearly gasped - the history teacher let go and knelt down before the child._

_"I will never be ashamed to be seen with you in public, Harry." Snape said, looking straight into the boy's eyes and he, Dmitri frowned._

_No - he really did not understand, neither this man, nor the situation. But he knew that maybe he had made a mistake in calling the boy a coward and weak, he would have to apologize for it._

_And then -_

_"I will never beat you, Harry." The history teacher said and suddenly he understood the next puzzle. "I will never starve you and I will never lock you up in a cupboard. Do you understand me?"_

_Potter swiftly nodded his head, and Snape lightly squeezed his shoulder before standing up and then turning the boy on his shoulder, leading him and his other students out of the gym._

**End flashback**

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Leave it to this particular teacher of his to cut directly to the heart of the matter. He thought. Merlin! And in front of Master Dmitri and the other students no less!

Ok, he was sure that the other students - except of Brian, Sam and Terry - had not heard what Snape exactly had said, they had been too far away for understanding Snape's words, but Brian, Sam and Terry had understood, he was sure of that, alone from judging the other boys' looks, and Master Dmitri had understood as well. The man had watched him and Snape and he had looked at him strangely.

For a moment he even was angry at that thought, because the man thought of him as a coward already and a weakling, and now knowing that he'd been beaten and starved by the Dursleys - he surely must think that he was a coward and a weakling just the more.

On the other hand - his stomach was doing back flips by now. He didn't know how to describe it otherwise, but he just wanted to feel that again, Snape hugging him openly, telling him that he never would be ashamed of being seen with him openly and telling him openly that he was proud of him. His stomach had churned and made flips at that, still did so at the thought of it.

However, he most definitely was not going to say _'hey, professor, can you hug me again because that was just too overwhelming'_, surely not, but it was one of these times that he was sure he was going to remember the most. Just in case, just in case that he would have to go back to the Dursleys after this school year.

On their way to their house Snape was exceptionally quiet and it was clear to him that his guardian was embarrassed by the emotionality of the sentiments he had just expressed, so Harry didn't say anything, just bathed in the feeling of the large hand on his neck, and by the time they were back in their house and Snape had started preparing dinner, his voice was back to its normal, snarky self and his face was calm again, but Harry was sure - he never would forget what he had said anytime soon.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe**

_A fight, a call and a letter._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	18. no, I won't - no, I don't

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I have changed a few things from the already online chapter number 17 - A lesson to learn - and so I have posted that chapter anew … they won't be too notable changes, nor much added, but I thought them necessary anyway … thanks for your understanding …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in Little robe **

_His stomach had churned and made flips at that, still did so at the thought of it._

_However, he most definitely was not going to say 'hey, professor, can you hug me again because that was just too overwhelming', surely not, but it was one of these times that he was sure he was going to remember the most. Just in case, just in case that he would have to go back to the Dursleys after this school year._

_On their way to their house Snape was exceptionally quiet and it was clear to him that his guardian was embarrassed by the emotionality of the sentiments he had just expressed, so Harry let him be for a while and by the time they were back in their house and Snape had started preparing dinner, his voice was back to its normal, snarky self and his face was calm again, but Harry was sure - he never would forget what he had said anytime soon._

**Little robe **

**Chapter eighteen**

**No, I won't - no, I don't**

He didn't really understand the situation - or rather, why Snape hadn't punished him yet.

He hadn't been able to really understand the man's patience lately, generally, but this new situation - it was too much for him to really get it. He hadn't been the most obedient student lately and he knew that, he hadn't been the most obedient _ward_ lately either - and honestly, in the past, while being at Hogwarts, Snape would not only have taken hundreds of points from him but he also would have handed out detention for the remainder of his life meanwhile.

Not only that the man had to gather him for meals at a regular basis because he was in the library, reading, and then simply forgetting mealtimes - that alone, Snape surely would have taken as disrespect and disobedience, but he also was not taking as much rest as Snape expected him to. Not that his understanding in the question of _why_ Snape would expect him to rest would be any better, because Snape and demanding rest of him, Harry bloody Potter, that was simply - surreal - but well, the man did and he didn't really obey. Not because he didn't _want_ to obey however, he knew very well that he was pushing his luck, but - he just couldn't. How could he lay in bed in the middle of the day when he never before had done so? When he never before - he didn't know how to rest during daytime! He - he was used to be working all day long and he … and then there was of course the thing with his running away and then his disobedience when Snape had found him and had told him to undress. Merlin! He'd even kicked at the man - again!

But the strange thing was - again, just like back then in Snape's office, when Snape had taken him away from Sirius' dead body, again Snape had done nothing, Snape had not punished him, and Snape had not even reprimanded him - nor had he given him detention and he hadn't even taken away the points he'd given him. Not to mention that Snape had given him points to begin with, something he'd never done before. No, he had just healed his injuries, had kept him in the medical wing, and then he'd told him to take it easy and to rest - well, what had led to his new disobedience because he just didn't know how to do such a thing like resting during the daytime.

He wasn't stupid enough to forget his disobedience when it came to meals either. He knew very well that Snape was rather unhappy with his eating habit and he didn't miss the constant "eat!" or "your steak!" or the constant pointed looks or fingers at his plate whenever he thought he couldn't eat any more or he would explode. Again, it wasn't that he _wanted_ to disobey - no, surely not. He was very glad that finally there was someone who not only provided him with food to begin with, but - he actually was bathing in the feeling of someone caring about him enough to make sure he got better and really ate _enough_, and _slept_ enough, and everything, he didn't want to lose that again - even if he would never admit that, he wasn't a baby anymore after all.

Anyway, he did make it rather hard for Snape lately, he knew that.

And now the thing with Master Dmitri yesterday.

Of course Snape had calmed down upon their way back to their house, and yes, of course he'd felt so damn warm and happy at the Professor's words - but all of that didn't change the fact that he had not only had forced Snape to partake in a fight that had been _his _originally, but that he also had brought Snape in a - very embarrassing situation, that he had hurt Snape's pride. And he knew that the man was a proud person, he knew Snape since more than four years now, after all.

Snape was strange.

Snape was a dark and sarcastic bastard, taking points from a student for just crossing his way on a bad day, giving out detention upon a wrong word said, and vanishing someone's potion upon a mistake done. Alright, he could understand the last part, because if a student made a mistake in their potions, then it could be a dangerous mistake that had the potions exploding or emit poisonous vapors, and even though most of the potions they had been brewing up to fourth grade were rather harmless, they were dangerous enough so that someone _could _get hurt. Now however, in fifth grade, they would do their OWLs at the end of this year, what would be like preparing for their NEWT classes and so - the stuff they were taught started to get a bit more complicated and difficult, potions included. And so it was of course no wonder that Snape had taken to banishing a failed potion that just _might_ explode the entire classroom and kill the students within - a simple thing.

That he always had preferred the Slytherins was understandable to him too, because - well, he wasn't stupid and so he knew that the other teachers didn't look well upon the Slytherins, Snape's house. They preferred the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs even, anything was better than the Slytherins in the teachers' eyes and so of course Snape stood behind his own house, trying to make good what the other teachers did wrong, he knew that, even if he was the one upon whom Snape bestowed most of his more hurtful sarkasm.

Well, what he didn't understand, was Snape's incredible patience since they were here in Canada now, because Snape was anything than patient and his cruelty should have hit him days and days ago already. Yet, it hadn't, and he didn't know why.

What had been destroying his own patience in waiting for the axe to fall - had been yesterday afternoon however.

He had shamed Snape, he had hurt Snape's pride, he had - he had hurt Snape in so many ways, Merlin! Snape even had to fight his fight! And all of it not only in front of his own house but in front of Master Dmitri and _his_ students too! He - had he caused just one of that in uncle Vernon's house, then he surely wouldn't be alive anymore. His uncle would have killed him by now, most likely the moment they'd been alone but at the latest in the evening.

Alright, he was exaggerating now - but he knew that not only wouldn't he be able moving but also he knew that he would bear more than just one broken bone - not to mention that his back wouldn't be able to bear any kind of clothes being worn for a long time. He would be locked in his cupboard for the next four weeks and most likely food would be a rare occasion during that time too. Not to mention his privileges of using the bathroom that would diminish to - something like once or twice a week and like always he would be glad for the bucket his aunt had in the cupboard.

And yet - Snape had not done anything so far. Snape had not punished him yet - and that was what he didn't get, what he didn't understand.

He had gotten used to this Snape being rather strange, but this new situation, it had him - it had him on the edge, it had him like walking on ice, or on egg-shells, or - or anything, and he just wished that Snape would go on and punish him finally, anything to just get it over with and he didn't understand why the man wouldn't. Or maybe this was Snape's new way of torturing him? Maybe Snape knew how utterly devasted he felt? Maybe -

"Mr. Potter." The man's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he jumped upon the silky voice calling on him, feeling the dread of the upcoming punishment while at the same time he could feel the relief at the thought that it would be finally over.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He had watched the boy for some time now and it was enough.

He didn't understand what exactly the problem was now, but neither had Potter been able to eat more than a bird's portion yesterday evening - and this morning for breakfast - despite his constant reminder, nor had he slept last night, he was sure of that. The tiredness the child radiated was physically tangible and he was barely able to keep his eyes open even though it was just before noon and lunchtime.

He didn't know what exactly the problem was, but he only could imagine that it had something to do with yesterday evening and Dmitri holding the boy down, something that still made him angry. Dmitri was a teacher, and a head of a house, as small as those houses were here at this school, he was a person in charge over children and he should have enough common sense to not holding a student that is known of being scared of other people down at the ground - even though it was during a lesson in physical defence.

A knock on the front door to their house had him lifting his eyebrow, wondering who might be visiting on a Sunday while he went to answer the door, and the only three he could imagine were either the headmaster - even though he was sure the man would have rather sent a patronus - Manuel because of a potion or Wohehiv to ask for Harry's wellbeing - and for Harry's wellbeing only, mind you, surely not because of him, Snape!

Upon opening the door he couldn't help his eyebrow going even higher however, as it was neither of the three. Not that he would have been happy about Wohehiv visiting, he only had considered his visit because of Harry of course. It was however Lamarck standing in front of his door.

"My apology for disturbing your weekend, Master Severus." The boy said and he frowned at the sudden respect the teen was showing. He looked down at the boy, waiting, without acknowledging his statement, wondering why the brat was here. He was sure that Master Dmitri must have sent him or otherwise the little imp wouldn't be there at all.

"I - I'm here to bring the essay you have asked of me last week." The boy then said, reaching him a scroll of parchment and he took it - still wordlessly, not reading it but still waiting. Of course he knew that this way he made the brat nervous, but he didn't really care, on the contrary - it was that what he could best, making his students nervous, because that way they gave away the most interesting reactions and because this way he could learn about them the most.

"I - I'm also here to apologize." The boy then said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry for having disturbed your lessons repeatedly, and I'm sorry for having bullied your student too, Harry, I mean. I shouldn't have said what I have."

"Apology accepted - concerning my lessons." He calmly said. "Concerning your bullying however, you will have to apologize to Harry - in front of the class. Monday morning during history."

"You - you mean, I'm back in your class, Master Severus?" The boy asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"As it seems." He drawled while looking down his nose at the boy, wondering about the happy relief he could see on the boy's face.

"Thank you, Master Severus." The brat then said before quickly turning and nearly running away and darkly he watched the boy until he had run down the road to his own house where he entered and disappeared out of his sight.

Bloody imbecile!

He would have to prepare Potter for Lamarck approaching him tomorrow or the boy would be startled out of his pants.

Coming back into the living room he noticed that the boy was still fighting his tiredness and the drawn face - and entire frame of the child - showed that he had missed two meals again, a sign of how weak the child was, if one could visibly see the boy having missed meals.

Sighing he approached the brat, stood beside him and then called his name - to have him jumping a mile up into the air and his frown deepened.

He however narrowed his eyes when Potter took a deep breath and then seemed to steel himself for something, seemed to accept something he apparently thought was coming. The question was - what _was _the bloody brat thinking?

"Would you please accompany me to the kitchen, Mr. Potter?" He asked and he nearly shook his head at the relief he could see on the child's face, but then he led the boy out of the living room. He'd lay the table for lunch with the child and at the same time he'd try to find out more. He didn't like the way Potter was acting since yesterday afternoon, the child was harming himself with his inability of sleeping and eating properly.

"If you - Potter?" He asked upon turning and seeing the boy standing close to the table, wringing his hands and looking scared and quite ill. "What's wrong, Potter?"

"N-nothing, sir." The boy answered, taking a deep breath. "I - I'm ready."

"Ready for what, Potter?" He asked, not really understanding and he furrowed his brows at the boy.

"F-for … for my punishment." The boy said, softly, and he gasped, his brain needing a moment to wrap itself around the information.

"And what for should you receive a punishment, Mr. Potter?" He asked, trying to sound as calmly as possible. He started to understand the boy's behaviour, his fear of the upcoming punishment making him ill and therefore unable to eat properly, the thought and the worries about his punishment keeping him from sleeping.

"B-because … because I have shamed you, yesterday." The boy said and he took a deep breath. "B-because … I … please, sir, will you just - will you just punish me now … I - I just want it over and - please, sir, I - I'm sorry …"

"Stop!" He said after a moment, after his mind had finally understood the entirety of the situation, and he lifted his hand to stop the boy before he waved him over. "Come here, Harry." He then said, watching the boy taking a shuddering breath before coming closer, the fear in the green eyes not dissipating and therefore he knew, the boy was awaiting his punishment - and most likely a beating.

Taking the boy's two hands into his and then sitting down into the next chair he guided the boy so that he stood in front of him, between his knees, ignoring the deep breath the boy was taking, clearly preparing himself for - being taken over his knee.

"No, I won't punish you, Harry." He then said, calmly. "I won't punish you at all, because there is no reason for any punishment. You have done nothing wrong, child, on the contrary. You have tried to do your best concerning your eating habits and your sleeping pattern. No, Harry, you will listen now." He said when the boy shook his head and tried to say something, and he tightened his grip on the boy's hands. "For years I have wronged you, child, have handled you unfairly and have made your school-time a living hell. And nevertheless you are now ready to do your best to please me. You are working hard to do what I expect of you - and do not think that I have not noticed, I have, child. I am watching you struggling with your meals and with taking a rest during daytime and so I know that you are trying. You are learning, you are on your best behaviour and you are respectful towards the other teachers. I only hear the best from them. You are fighting your way through your days despite how ill you are still. No, look at me, Harry."

Taking both of the boy's hands into one of his he lifted his now free hand and grabbed the boy's chin when the child tried to look away.

"I know that it is difficult for you, allowing me to take care of you now, after you have taken care of yourself for years." He said, knowing that he had to address a few things. "And nevertheless you are trying your best to do as I expect of you. I also know that you are not used to taking things easy during daytime, and rest. And nevertheless I can see that you are trying. And the same goes for meals. I know that you are feeling ill after half of what I expect you to eat and anyway you are trying to eat as much as I expect you to. And I do acknowledge your efforts. I am not simply your teacher anymore, Harry, and I am not even just your head of house either. I am your guardian at the moment, Harry, and that means I am the one to act in place of your father. A strange thought, I do realize that, but that is what _is_, child. And as your guardian, you have made me very proud actually. You have not shamed me in front of Master Dmitri because not _you _have done something wrong but him as - the only person to teach you any lesson is me and no one else. He had no right to hold you down - nor to call you a coward or weak as you are neither of the two. You, as my ward, have made me proud, never forget that - and so there is no need for any kind of punishment, do you understand that, child?"

There was no answer except of a nod and considering the teary eyes and the hitched breathing, it was clear that the boy didn't trust his voice at the moment.

"And even if I were to punish you for anything once, then this punishment would be never carried out in form of a beating - and neither in form of locking you away or denying you food." He said after taking a deep breath himself and he finally released the boy's chin, placing his palm at the child's pale cheek instead, running his thumb over the boy's brow. "My concept of a punishment is an essay you might have to write, lines you might have to write or scrubbing cauldrons, that depends on what you might have done. But right now, you haven't done anything and so there is no punishment needed. You have made me as proud as one of my Slytherins could have made me." He then added, just to make it absolutely clear to the boy.

"Maybe I've really made a mistake." The boy murmured and he lowered his head to the side a bit.

"How so, child?" He asked, suddenly remembering something a few days ago.

**Flashback**

_"Merlin! Double history first thing this morning! I'm still not used to Master Severus' teaching style. How have you survived him four years so far, Harry?"_

_"Huh …?" Potter made and he nearly shook his head at the utter lack of eloquent language, the boy looking startled and as if he didn't know what to do when being asked a question. "Uhm … well, he's not so bad, I guess. He might act all dark and snarky to everyone but I guess deep down he's not so bad." Yes, one might leave it to Potter to destroy one's reputation with one simple sentence._

_"Destroying my reputation, are we, Potter?" He asked, leaning over to the blasted brat._

_"Uhm … no, sir …" Potter quickly answered, just as quickly shaking his head. "In your hands even cotton becomes a sharp weapon." The boy then added, and after a moment of shock he couldn't help laughing out loud, again startling his students and especially Potter._

_"With your sense of humour, Mr. Potter, you easily could have made it into my house four years earlier." He said the moment he had himself back under control, noticing the blush on the boy's face while Potter lowered his head and started his breakfast silently without looking up once again and he wondered why._

**End Flashback**

Surely the boy -

"Well, 'cause the hat _wanted _me in Slytherin." The boy said and he took a deep breath, held it for a moment before he slowly released it.

So Harry _really_ could have been in his house. The boy _could have been_ one of his very students from the beginning on, from first year on. He would have been forced to re-view the boy and all that stood for Harry Potter years ago already and he - Merlin! It seemed that yet another part of his knowledge about the world had fallen away, and the ground on which he walked didn't seem so firm anymore.

"You could've been mine." He softly said, closing his eyes.

"Huh." The insolent boy said startled.

"You _should_ have been mine." He growled while opening his eyes and looking back at the brat feeling a strange tranquillity pass over him. He remained staring at Potter for a few more minutes, knowing that - everything had changed, again, with just another piece of the puzzle set into place, everything had changed again and suddenly the child wasn't just in the place of his ward and student, but he could _feel _the boy being closer, the child being - one of _his_ children, Harry was one of his. "Why - why in Merlin's name did you not wish to be in Slytherin?" He then asked calmly. "What foolish notion kept you from trusting the hat?"

There wasn't an answer for some time and he took a deep breath.

"Had you been in my house, then you would have had my protection from the beginning on." He explained. "I would have been able to handle you differently despite any Death Eaters getting suspicious. I would have been able to keep you from the Dursleys and I even would have been able to keep you from partaking in this bloody tournament last year. Not to mention that - I wouldn't have been as unfair and as cruel as I have been for the past four years, child. Why would you not trust the sorting hat!"

"Well, I … I didn't want to … you know, uncle Voldie has been in Slytherin and Hagrid told me that he'd killed my parents and … I just didn't … and then there'd been Ron, and he'd been my very first friend ever. I've never before had a friend, never, and I … I just …" The boy babbled and then stopped, helplessly, and he took another deep breath.

"It is alright, child." He softly said, squeezing the boy's hands. "It is alright. What is done, is done and it is a moot point to worry about it now. You are mine now and that is better than never. And everything else, we will deal with it as it arises."

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"You - you're not angry, sir, are you?" The boy asked, sounding scared and unsure for all his life and getting up from his chair he knelt down before the boy.

"You mean, will I go back to hating you - now, that you have - declined - my house." He said, firmly gripping the boy's shoulder with his free hand. "No." He quickly answered when he noticed that his line of thinking had been absolutely correct. "No, I am neither angry at you at all, nor will I be going back to hating you. I just started to understand more than what I understood until recently. I just - have seen another piece of the puzzle fitting into place, Harry. You are my student, you are my ward, and not only am I responsible for you but I actually am _happy_ to have you as my ward. Do you understand? I'm not only doing this because Dumbledore told me to, even though in the beginning this clearly has been my only intention. Not so anymore. I'm doing this because I want to, child, and I want doing this because you have shown me that you are worth my care and my - affection. You are a perfectly fine boy, and I am very proud of you. Do you understand this?" He then asked, just to make it absolutely clear and to be sure that the boy had really understood.

Again, there was no answer but a shy nodding of the boy's head, an unsure nodding and he could perfectly understand why the child was so unsure, seeing that it had been _him_ who had made that boy's life at Hogwarts a living hell while he was now acting so strangely, in the child's eyes. Sure, he'd made any student's life at Hogwarts a living hell as he neither liked them nor overly cared about them, except of his Slytherins, they had their own heads of houses, but that was neither here nor there. So, speaking of this particular child, of course he wouldn't understand it completely and he was sure that the child would take a few weeks more to finally understand, maybe even a few months.

Giving another short squeezing of the boy's shoulder he stood up and sat back in the chair, ignoring the creaking of his joints as he did so, realizing that he was getting too old for such kind of shit. Merlin, and here he was, just 35 years old and already his body started to protest at some movements he was doing! What a field day Wohehiv surely would have, should he know about that.

"May I … I'm …" The boy said and he could see how close to crying he was, the child clearly wanting to leave the kitchen, to run upstairs and into his room to hide away, and to hide his tears away too.

"No, you are not excused." He said, at the same time pulling the boy closer and into his arms, holding the small and thin body against his chest and the boy's head against his shoulder with his other hand - what was just the thing that broke the boy's resolve and a moment later he had a desperately sobbing teen in his arms, again - just that this time he didn't mind and leaning back in the chair he was sitting in he relaxed with a heavy sigh.

For too long had the child had _not_ been cared for, had the child had _no one_ who allowed him to cry all over him, or to smear his snot all over his robes - for too long had the child _had not_ been told that there was someone who was proud of him. No, correct that, never before. Never before had the child had such things, because he was sure, the time before he had come to his relatives, before his parents had been killed, before Lilly had been - well, he was sure that Harry didn't remember that, that he didn't …

He knew that Lily had loved Harry, more than anything in her life, most likely even more than him, Snape, and that meant something as he knew that Lily _had_ loved him back.

When Lily had married Potter instead of him, he'd first been angry at her, very angry and he'd been ready to go away, to never see her again, to never speak a word with her ever again, but then - well, Lily had always been good at charms, and if no one had known that, they at the latest then had learned it after that bloody book following him wherever he went, babbling on and on and on wherever he went. And it had been through this book that he had learned about Albus' first betrayal, about Albus telling Lily that she either had to marry Potter or she would risk not only his, Snape's life, but the existence of all wizarding community.

Of course Lily had obeyed, she'd always had a very high sense of protecting others - as had her son, apparently.

He'd of course gone to Albus after that, had nearly killed the old man in his anger, but Albus had told him that - through this bond between Lily and James, a child had to be born, Harry, and this child had to _be _or wizardom would be doomed. Well, most likely had this been the main reason as to why he had started hating this child so much, because in his eyes, this child had been the cause as to why Lily had left him, had married Potter without even dating him once before doing so.

He waited for some time, until the boy had calmed down somewhat before he ran his hand through the mop of black hair, pulling the slight body in his arms closer once more for a moment.

"I was very wrong, Harry." The older wizard then said, more softly than ever. "And you have my apology for that. I am sorry, child, and I do thank you for giving me another chance after all that had happened during the past four years."

Well, if he had thought that his words would calm the child, then he had been very wrong and with a silent sigh he realized - this child was indeed very much like his Slytherins, because they would react very much the same in privacy as did Harry right now.

Looking up upon movement coming from the door behind Harry he shook his head when he noticed Glen standing in the doorway. It was noon, and it was time for lunch, but right now they would have to be patient and wait as he knew, this here was more important right now.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Smiling he went back into the living room where the others were playing with cards instead of doing their homework, an essay they had to hand in tomorrow morning to Master Manuel and he knew that there were at least three of them who hadn't written it now, namely Brian, Sam and Terry. He'd tried to get them to doing their homework, but they just wouldn't listen to him and so he'd left it. It wasn't his problem if they got into trouble with Master Manuel tomorrow, honestly! On the other hand, knowing Master Manuel, he wouldn't do much about it anyway. Barely the teachers did react upon missing homework. They were expected to learn on their own, they were expected to do their homework by free will - anyone who had to be forced into learning was at the wrong school. This here was a school for those who _wanted _to learn - at least that was the general idea. That in reality it was different, he guessed it was a normal thing. Reality always differed from that what should be or from what was planned.

He didn't know if the new boy, Harry, had done his essay yet, but seeing that he'd always had his homework so far and seeing that he always was learning and on his best behaviour, he guessed that he had done it. A strange boy, really. Always so unreadable, so indifferent, like Master Snape, his face a mask that was set in stone, rather watching things and people, listening to what people talked about instead of talking a lot himself, always composed - except for a few moments where he had complete breakdowns - like back then in the music workroom two weeks ago, and back then he'd been missing for three days even, had been in the hospital wing. And like yesterday in the gym, when Master Dmitri had held him down.

Master Snape had been really angry at that, he realized.

"Is lunch finished?" Andrew asked and he needed a moment to understand the question. "Earth to Glen … earth to Glen, can you hear me? No black holes or sunspots in your way? Can you hear me?"

"Oh, shut up, Andrew!" He growled. "You'll just have to wait, no, lunch isn't ready yet."

"Maybe we should go to the great hall?" Brian suggested and he shook his had.

"You'll just wait." He said, sitting down.

"Maybe we should go and help Master Severus and Harry preparing lunch?" Sam softly asked but again he shook his head.

"That won't be necessary yet, Sam." He said, knowing that the other boy just wanted to help. Sam was - despite a member of the music trio and despite being a boy with a lot of nonsense on his mind, the calmest and the softest of the three. "Master Severus and Harry are having a serious talk that is none of your business and you should keep your nose out of that kitchen until you are called in.

"I'm sure it's 'bout yesterday." Terry shrugged his shoulders and then gave the cards.

Of course he hadn't heard what exactly Master Severus had said to Harry yesterday afternoon in the gym, after the fight between Master Severus and Master Dmitri - a fight that had looked - whoa! But he knew what it had been about anyway, because Brian, Sam and Terry had been close enough to hear, and they had told them that Master Severus had told Harry that he wouldn't beat him, that he wouldn't starve him and that he wouldn't lock him into a cupboard.

He didn't really understand.

From the way Harry flinched when people came too close, well, yes - it could be that he'd been beaten. And from how thin he was, yes - it could be that he'd been starved too, what would explain why Master Severus was giving him a nutrient potion for breakfast and dinner. And yes, he knew what a nutrient potion was because his sister had been ill, years ago. He hadn't known what it had been back then, he'd just watched her loosing more and more weight over the months while his parents had fought as much nutrients into her as possible while visiting healer over healer, had tried to help her with many things, including nutrient potions, but nothing had helped. She'd died two years ago and now he knew that it had been anorexia, a muggle illness.

He doubted that it was anorexia the new boy suffered from, because it was different from what had happened with his sister. His sister had, somehow, starved herself, this boy, if Brian, Sam and Terry had understood Master Severus right, _had been_ starved by someone else and he really didn't dare imagining what it must be like, being denied food until someone looked like Harry looked. He didn't know it, but what he knew was, that somehow he was ill. And Master Severus had changed very much, his behaviour towards that boy. Maybe because he knew something? Maybe because that boy would be dying too? What he didn't understand was - what had Master Severus meant, with his comment about the cupboard? Maybe the boy had a few siblings who'd locked him into a cupboard once and now he suffered from claustrophobia because of it? It could be, he thought, mentally shrugging. That boy suffered from so many fears, it could be claustrophobia too.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

A complete different line of thinking was one craftmanship student doing while going down to the kitchen for lunch.

Master Dmitri hadn't been too happy about Master Severus throwing him out of his class, on the contrary, he'd been rather very unhappy and he'd showed his unhappiness - his punishment hadn't been too pleasant and he'd had a long time to think about his wrongdoing.

Master Dmitri had expected him already the moment he had come home after dinner in the hall, the man looking at him calmly but coldly and he'd just had him following him to the teacher's study where Dmitri had taken him over his knees for a spanking that he'd felt even the day after still. He'd barely cried upon a spanking from Master Dmitri, even though the man's hand was anything than soft on his behind, but this time he had. And then the man had placed him in the corner while he'd started grading papers.

**Flashback**

_"The corner, boy, now." Was all Master Dmitri said the moment he stood on his two legs again, barely able to stop his crying, barely able to even breathe, the man looking at him calmly but coldly, just gesturing with his chin at the corner he wanted him in and he knew better than to argue, went over to the place with his legs trembling and he had to keep himself from placing his trembling fingers on his behind._

_Master Dmitri was a strange man. _

_He'd been attending a lot of several schools already, in his first year, when he was eleven, but everywhere he had been thrown out after a few weeks and he'd started here when he was twelve instead of eleven. He hadn't cared about anything anymore back then, because he'd thought that he'd been thrown out of school again rather soon, and so he'd shrugged everything off. It was the best he could do to protect himself, he'd learned that a long time ago, because if you had parents who didn't care if you were at home or in prison or dead, then you best didn't care either, that hurt less. _

_However, he hadn't expected that there was a teacher suddenly who cared, but Master Dmitri had and already on his first day he'd been in trouble with the man, with his head of house. And on the second day too, and on the third day. _

_Of course he knew why he was standing in the corner, again, and of course he knew that he would stand here for - what felt like hours and hours, until he was close to tears, again, after he had barely calmed down after the spanking, he was sure of that, because he knew Master Dmitri and it wouldn't be the first time that he lost it in front of the man. _

_It had gotten better over the years, really, and he'd been in less trouble with his head now. But he'd been at home for three months, and no one had cared, never mind what he'd done, no one had cared, and now that he was back - he hadn't done it intentionally, it was just - he'd just needed to know if Master Dmitri still cared about him, that was all! And well, he hadn't though that Master Severus would throw him out of his class, because no teacher did, they didn't even care enough to throw him out or to give him detention, only Dmitri cared, but then Master Snape had given him this essay as his detention, something Master Dmitri would do as a first step, before he would resort to other things, and - he just hadn't understood it and - well, knowing that it didn't help anyway he closed his eyes and tried to relax his body, knowing that it helped. He'd been standing here often enough after a spanking and for long enough to have learned that. _

**End flashback**

How stupid he'd been, really. He should have known that the man still cared, because he always cared upon his return to school after the holidays. He would have saved himself a lot of troubles, had he not tried his head of house's patience - because this time Master Dmitri had been really, really, _really_ angry. He'd had him standing in the corner for the entire evening and this time he'd been crying for real. He'd been barely able to stand at the end of it but it hadn't been over still. Master Dmitri had ordered him to turn and he'd gotten the lecture of his life, his head of house telling him that never before he had been shamed so deeply, in one of his students being thrown out of another teacher's class. And then - he'd wanted nothing else than creeping into his bed and to sleep - Master Dmitri had him writing an essay about what he'd done, about why he'd done it, and about what he'd do to make it good again. But it hadn't been a simple essay - no.

Master Dmitri had him sitting at his desk, on his already stinging behind, demanding a five feet essay, and whenever he hadn't been writing for longer than a minute the chair he'd been sitting at - and at which Master Dmitri had glued him at - had started heating for five minutes. A nasty thing, and he'd hated the man for it while writing his essay, but after that he'd fallen asleep in the man's arms, crying over not only the fact that he'd shamed his head of house but because the man cared enough to punish him, and to punish him really bad if he was really bad. Never before had a student been thrown out of a class here at the academy after all.

Master Dmitri must have brought him to bed after that, because he'd woken the next morning in his room, laying in his bed with his head of house sitting beside him, watching him. His teacher hadn't told him to apologize to Master Severus, but somehow he'd known that he had to and so he had excused himself shortly before noon and had gone to the house of music. He'd had the best excuse after all, he had still an essay to hand in to the teacher from England.

And not only had Master Severus accepted his apology - what he hadn't thought he would - but also had he accepted him back in his class. So - this meant that fir trees could grow leaves, didn't it? Smiling happily he approached his head of house who was just bringing the pot with the stew over to the table, the man looking up at him with a dark frown and with a slightly guilty look on his own face he realized that the others of his house were already sitting at the table, he was late.

"I'm sorry, Master Dmitri." He seriously said. "I'm late, it won't happen again."

"I doubt that, boy." The man said, pointing at the chair that was his and still free. "Sit down."

He didn't say anything more, just waited until Dmitri had put the pot and the pan on the table and had then spoken the grace.  
They all filled their plates and he waited, taking some of the stew and the roasted bread at the last before his teacher, still smiling, barely able to wait until he could tell his head of house the news, knowing - no, _hoping _- that the man would finally forgive him for good if he told him the news, while at the same time Dmitri was watching his most troublesome student seriously. The boy was nearly exploding with something he clearly wanted to tell.

Lamarck was a strange student, and one of his most difficult. If one however knew the reason as to why he was so difficult, then the boy was easy to handle. All that the boy missed was a severe hand and a bit of attention and care, that was all, seeing that he'd had no one who cared at home. Of course he knew that he was harsher to the boy than was necessary, but well, that was his ways. He was harsh to everyone.

He knew very well that the boy had gone to Snape, not only to hand in his essay, but to apologize too, he wasn't stupid, he'd seen where the brat went to and he knew, were it the essay only, then he'd given it to the other teacher tomorrow morning. No, he'd done so on a Sunday morning, during his free time, and so - he was sure that the boy had apologized. He doubted that Snape had taken the boy back in his class. Snape was predictable and angry at him, Dmitri, for touching his student yesterday and now he would have _his _student paying for it, but well, it was just history of magic. He would have the boy reading his books and that be it then. There were more important subjects, like defence against the dark arts, transfiguration, charms and potions.

Simon at the same time waited until Master Dmitri had filled his own plate. He then waited again until the man was sitting down into his chair and finally he waited until his teacher had taken the first few spoonful of the stew - and then -

"I'm back in history." He said, clear and brief, not looking up at the man openly, just watching him from between his lowered lids while he forced himself to continue eating as if nothing had happened. There was a short pause in the man's movements when he led the spoon to his mouth, shortly before a grunted out "good" - before one corner of his mouth twitched for a moment - and then there was nothing - and he smiled, knowing that Master Dmitri was very pleased or he would have either not shown any reaction at all or he would have gotten angry again.

Yes, things started to go back to normal, where they had been last year.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_A call, long overdue  
_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	19. a call, long overdue

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Added Note:**

I know it isn't in cannon - that for the AU-warning - but in this story Sirius died at the end of fourth year … you will have to read it, to learn more about it …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously in Little robe **

_Simon at the same time waited until Master Dmitri had filled his own plate. He then waited again until the man was sitting down into his chair and finally he waited until his teacher had taken the first few spoonful of the stew - and then -_

_"I'm back in history." He said, clear and brief, not looking up at the man openly, just watching him from between his lowered lids while he forced himself to continue eating as if nothing had happened. There was a short pause in the man's movements when he led the spoon to his mouth, shortly before a grunted out "good" - before one corner of his mouth twitched for a moment - and then there was nothing - and he smiled, knowing that Master Dmitri was very pleased or he would have either not shown any reaction at all or he would have gotten angry again._

_Yes, things started to go back to normal, where they had been last year._

**Little robe **

**Chapter nineteen**

**A call, long overdue**

Groaning softly he ran his hand over his forehead, not really understanding the headache that had built for the past two days, that never had allowed him a moment of peace and he even considered to finally address Professor Snape with this, never mind disturbing the man with his trivialities.

And the man was irritated enough lately.

It wasn't that Professor Snape was back to hating him, and he didn't snap at him either nor did he yell at him or ridicule him, it was just that the man was paler than he normally was and that meant something as the Professor was not a tanned person to begin with.

He also had noticed the man rubbing his arm, his arm, where he knew the dark mark had to be, as if the thing hurt him. And he could imagine that, because he had seen the dark mark. Not on Snape's forearm but on Crouch's, and it didn't look like a normal comfortable tattoo one or another person might have, the thing curling and winding and squirming on the forearm, through the forearm, through veins and tendons - whatever.

He didn't know if it generally moved, but he had seen it moving and this had been enough to make his stomach squirm.

Turning to his other side he again closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but again the pain flared a notch upwards and he gasped, pressing his palm over his forehead.

If only the sharp pain would go away a bit, just a bit instead of building and building - if only he knew what kind of headache it was, because he knew that it wasn't a normal headache. He often had headaches, but not like this. He'd never had a headache like this.

Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his nerves before he would start crying like a baby! Honestly! It was a headache and nothing more, and everyone had a headache once in a while, no need to cry here over such a small thing!

A moment later he couldn't help the tears starting to leak from his eyes and he curled his fingers into his hair in a tight grip, hoping that one way or another he could stop or at least ease the pain - or to keep himself from crying out loud.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He had known that it would come, he had known since a few days now and honestly, he was a bit surprised that it hadn't come earlier. The Dark Lord surely had heard on September, first already of his leaving England, and being Potter's guardian even, he was sure of that as neither had it been kept a secret nor did anything ever pass the Dark Lord without being noticed either and so he had expected a call from the bastard two weeks ago already - it hadn't come.

Well, it came now, that call, and it was at the most inappropriate time possible. Not that any other time would have been more appropriate in his opinion as he could clearly go without the Dark Lord's meetings, but right now it was the _very most _inappropriate time as just the very moment he felt the call in his arm - there was a pain filled scream coming from Potter's room and he hurried upstairs, not even bothering with knocking on the brat's door but immediately throwing the door open and entering the room - to find the boy kneeling on the floor, curled into a small ball and with his forehead resting on the wooden floor - or rather being pressed at the wooden floor while the teen had his hands curled into his hair, his fists pulling at the strands tightly.

"Potter!" He called out while kneeling beside the slightly rocking form, just to have the boy coming up for a moment and then hitting his head at the floor, hard. "Potter, stop that! What's wrong!" He demanded, cursing the pain in his arm flaring, knowing that he would be in trouble if he didn't hurry up in answering the call.

Of course he'd sworn to never spy again for Dumbledore, neither on the Dark Lord nor on the boy, but he knew that the order needed to know what the madman was planning and so, no, he didn't do this for Dumbledore, that bastard could go and meet with the other one that was calling him right now, he was doing this for the order - if he could get the boy's situation under control so that he could go, that was.

But there was nothing that indicated that the boy's situation would be under control anytime soon as just now a new scream escaped the boy's throat, a clear scream of pain and he waved his hand, casting a diagnostic.

"Glen!" He called out, hoping that the seventh year was close, being drawn close by Harry's screams and indeed - a moment later his apprentice stood in the doorway, looking scared and lost, large eyes looking at him, at the boy. "Go and get Wohehiv, hurry up, boy!" He ordered between clenched teeth, getting his own shields up to their highest, trying to block out the pain in his arm. The diagnostic was showing a headache but he couldn't find a reason as to why the boy should have one in the first place, not to mention a headache of that calibre, the diagnostic didn't show anything else. And he knew that it had to be an immense headache, he knew that boy meanwhile and he knew that - never mind what, that boy never cried out upon slight pain and even real pain was no reason for the boy to give away a sound. In other words, the headache had to be nearly unbearable for that boy to scream with the pain.

"Take a deep breath, Potter." He tried to calm the teen, even though he knew that it was in vain, that the child wouldn't be able to. "Try to block the pain and try to breathe through it calmly, that will help, try to focus on my voice instead of the pain, I need you to get calm, do you hear me, Potter? No! Stop that right now! You will not - you just stop this … stop it … that's better, and now take a deep breath and calm down, Very good, again. I need you to take over from here, Wohehiv." He then added without changing the tone of his voice when he noticed the healer kneeling down on the boy's other side. "I need to go."

Wohehiv Firecrow, healer from the tribe of the Cheyenne was entering the boy's room and he needed a moment to collect himself.

He'd been startled already the moment when Glen had come running to him, pale like death and screaming at him, that he had to hurry, that Harry was hurt and he had run towards the house of music, horror visions playing out in his mind already because he knew - if Mokatavatah was calling for him, then it had to be life threatening. Severus was a Potions Master and as a Potions Master you had to partake in an apprenticeship for becoming a healer just as well, as you were playing with poisonous, dangerous and deathly substances if you were a Potions Master. He knew that because it was a two-way road and as a Healer you had to become a Potions Master just as well as you needed to know about all the potions you could give a person, what they did, how they reacted with others and how to brew them.

Not to mention that he had seen the man at a work as healer when he'd had Hakethomemah in his wing, and so he knew that the man was capable and didn't have any fears of contact. No, Mokatavatah was a capable man and if he was calling for him right now, then it had to be really serious - what had him imagining several deathlike situations, what had him praying to Manitou in a constant mantra to _not_ let those two die - or one of the two as he knew, if one of the two died, then the other would go downhill too, and he had started realizing just _how_ important those two had become to _him_. More important than he still dared to admit.

And then he already had heard the boy's screams upon entering and hurrying upstairs he'd heard Severus' attempts to calm the child.

"Where would you go to right now, Mokatavatah?" He asked, not really understanding why the man would leave upon such a situation. Two weeks ago he had watched how much the teacher cared about that boy, barely leaving Hakethomemah's side to sleep and now he stated that he had to leave in a situation that was …

"The Dark Lord is calling." The man hissed and upon looking over at the Potions Master closely he could see how pale _he_ was, and he was getting startled a second time. Upon entering the boy's room he had just had an eye for the child on the floor but looking at Severus now, the man didn't look any better than the boy did and was definitely in a lot of pain.

"Surely you cannot -" He started but was interrupted by the man that reached a parchment with a diagnostic he'd already run and a few potions over at him.

"I have to!" He hissed at him darkly. "There is no other who can do this."

"Where will you go to?" He asked, while trying to pry the boy's fingers off his hair without causing more harm so that he could give him the potions he recognized as pain reliever and a calming potion. "And how would you leave Canada in the first place? Surely you can't go through the headmaster's floo and -"

"I cannot tell you, I need you to trust me." Severus said, firmly and clearly impatiently, the man pressing a trembling hand at his arm and he realized that he had to be in a great deal of pain.

"Why can't you tell me?" He asked, not really happy with the situation, especially not wanting Severus anywhere out while he was in a condition like this - and surely not with a madman like Voldemort.

"Do not push me." Severus growled, his tone being final and Wohehiv knew that he'd either had to leave him be or to fight him, what would result in him losing - the fight as well as his friendship, as he knew, Severus Snape was stubborn enough to give him nothing and just vanishing. He was probably lucky to have gotten this much out of him. "Will you do for Potter what you can?" Severus then asked and he shook his head.

"Of course." He growled. "What a silly question. What do you think? I am a healer after all and I have sworn an oath." A moment later he was alone, the Potions Master being gone, leaving behind a boy that was in clearly just as much pain as Severus had been - a boy that was clearly panicking too.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"What happened, Wohehiv?" Acheron's calm voice asked upon entering his - _tepee_, as he had named his hospital wing after Mokatavatah had called him a "_medicine man_" some time ago.

He was sitting beside Hakethomemah's bed since he had brought the boy here, and he had brought the boy here shortly after Severus had left, realizing that there was no way that he could calm the boy. Somehow this boy's mind had been - interwoven with either Severus' mind, or with someone else's mind at the Death Eater meeting - or whatever it was Severus had gone to - because somehow the boy had been aware of the things happening there, had even been - he didn't know how - subjected to several curses, screaming Severus' name over and over again in clear panic.

He had tried to keep the boy as calm as possible, had tried to give him the potions Mokatavatah had given him, but not only had he known that it was in vain but also that it hadn't been enough and so he'd just spelled several potions into the boy's stomach, including a sleeping potion at one point or another. Not that the sleeping potion had helped much, the boy had still been screaming - in his sleep - clearly feeling the pain still and even though he'd seen the result of the cruciatus for the first time, he'd immediately known that it was this curse.

"I'm not entirely sure." He softly answered while Acheron summoned a chair and then sat beside him, watching the boy too.

"Maybe you can try to explain that to me what you know?" The headmaster calmly asked and he took a deep breath.

"Glen came to get me and upon arriving at the house of music, Hakethomemah had been screaming and writhing on the floor in his room with pain and Mokatavatah had tried to calm him." He started, trying to remember the events of the past two or three hours. "I didn't notice it first, but Severus was in a lot of pain himself, he told me he had to go, that the Dark Lord was calling him. I tried to talk it out of him but he said he had to, and then he just left and was gone, and left the screaming boy behind. I don't understand why he'd gone back to that man. His responsibility now is with the child."

"Severus is a very proud man, Wohehiv." Acheron said and he looked over at the man, for the first time since he had brought the boy here looking away from the child's now still form. "And he is a man full of guilt, believing that he still has to atone for what he has done in the past and forgetting that he has been fighting in a war, and in a war we all do things that might be against our believes. He has been made a spy by a man that abused his powers not only over a young Severus Snape but over a child like Harry Potter too and I fear that we will learn much more and much more evil things before this all is over, Wohehiv. Albus Dumbledore has - _offered_ - Severus a way out of his _'sins'_ by becoming a spy, and now Severus, as stubborn and as proud as he is, is believing that only this way he can function, while splitting himself between this child he cares for and his duty as a spy."

"He won't survive like this." He said, looking back at the pale child.

"Of course not." Acheron sighed. "But his own life isn't important to him. He doesn't care about his own life as long as he can save other lives. He is playing the role as a bad and dark wizard - a role he had to play during his spying days, even in front of his own people, but in truth he is a very caring and good person, even though he'd kill me if he knew my words."

"Why has he even become a spy?" He asked, shaking his head in anger. "Was it worth destroying this man just to get information?"

"In the eyes of Albus Dumbledore, yes." Acheron answered, leaning back in his chair, his eyes on the child in the bed. "From what I have learned when Severus has let me into his heart, he was the best choice as only two members of the organisation that fought the Dark Lord would have had the necessary background to fulfill this task as a spy, two men, and both standing on opposite sides within the same organisation, one that came from a dark family but had been in the wrong house for becoming a spy, namely in Gryffindor, a _'good'_ house, and the other one too coming from a dark family, but being in the correct house for such a task, namely in Slytherin, a _'bad'_ house. And so Albus Dumbledore had chosen Severus as the one to bring back information, most likely knowing that it needed a very proud and a very stubborn man to act spy in the middle of the enemies' circles.

"And a very brave man too." Master Dmitri's voice came into the room. "I think, I have underestimated our new teacher."

"His life is so complex, Dmitri, that we barely see the entirety of it." Acheron said, waving Dmitri into the room. "What happened then, Wohehiv?"

"From here it - I don't know, headmaster." He sighed, shaking his head. "I would swear that - mentally - somehow the child was not only in his room, but at the meeting too. Not only has he had visions about the meeting, has seen what had happened there, but he has been subjected to several curses too, the cruciatus curse, a cutting curse that has cut his chest and one other that didn't do any outward damage but caused simple pain. He was clearly witnessing the meeting too, because he's been screaming at the Dark Lord to leave him - with which I think he meant Severus - alone. I don't understand it but I think that somehow his mind was linked with someone else who has been at the meeting."

"Maybe with Severus' mind?" Acheron asked. "If the two have formed a bond - what they definitely have started doing - then a mental link could be possible."

"I thought so too at first." Wohehiv said, frowning. "But the more I think of it, and the boy's words, I think that it has been someone else's mind or he wouldn't have pleaded for the Dark Lord to - _'leave him alone'_. He's been screaming and crying for _'him'_ to be left alone. Somehow I even think that it could be Voldemort himself he was linked to, what would explain his headache the moment Severus has been called."

"Called?" Dmitri asked, looking from one to the other. "How?"

"Through a tatoo on his arm, called the Dark Mark." Acheron said and he too looked over at the headmaster. He hadn't known that either.

"I see." Dmitri said, nodding. Well, Dmitri was the defence against the dark arts teacher, and so - yes, of course he'd heard about the Dark Mark. "So that is it, how Snape's been able acting the spy, while being a member. How ingenious - and how very stupid! It was a dangerous thing to do and Dumbledore was a fool. There would have been other ways. There will be need of removal before Snape can stop spying."

"Is it possible?" He asked, looking up at the teacher.

"Of course it is." Dmitri growled. "It surely won't be easy, but everything that can be done, can be undone too. I'll do some researches."

"If he's alive still." He murmured, for a moment allowing his fears to take the upper hand and to lean forwards, to lean his head into his hands. "He isn't back yet and from what I think - from what Hakethomemah gave away, he's been tortured. Maybe that bastard of a Lord has found out that he's a spy and killed him or -"

"Snape is a harsh man, healer." Dmitri growled grumpily and for once he was glad about the man's grumpiness that got him out of his dark thoughts. "He's been spying for years if I got that correct and I'm sure he knows what he's doing. He'll keep himself out of trouble and alive. What about that boy?"

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

It was in the middle of the night that the alarms Acheron had set around the school went off, announcing someone apparating close to - or into - the school and seeing that he was still sitting beside Hakethomemah's bed, and seeing that the only person missing was … well, he hadn't been sleeping and getting off the chair he had been sitting in he went to his office, gathering a few potions he thought he might be needing, a pain reliever, blood replenisher, a calming potion and - Merlin! He didn't dare to think about what condition the man might be in and … if only Mokatavatah was alive still, and … he'd be able dealing with anything else and … sprinting towards the entrance door of the medical wing he … nearly collided with the headmaster who was entering the moment he was leaving, Dmitri following close behind Acheron, carrying - for a moment he stopped dead in his steps and he could feel the color leaving his face, could feel cold heaviness settling over his mind and his stomach, his heart, the moment he recognized the person Dmitri was carrying over his shoulders.

Quickly he hurried back into the wing, went to the bed beside the one Hahkethomemah was laying in and he waved his hand to discard the blanket and pillow so that they had some space on the bed.  
"How bad is it?" He asked, trying to fight his fears back, trying to fight for his professionalism.

"We've found him near the lake." Acheron said. "He's hypothermic and has several cuts on his torso. The worst however, I think, is nerve damage caused by the cruciatus."

"Lay him down." He said, unnecessarily as Dmitri was already doing just this, and with a careful spell he started to undress the man's layers of black, careful to not pull the fabric from any wound.

"Pr'fess'r!" Came Hakethomemah's voice from the other bed and the next moment there was a thud that indicated - the boy had tried to leave his bed and had fallen off in his attempt, and he cursed the boy's inappropriate timing of waking up as he was just now pressing a piece of cloth at a deep cut on the man's left shoulder.

"Not now!" He groaned out in frustration, softly enough for the boy to _not_ hear him, again cursing the fact that he had no help here in the medical wing, the only person that was a trained medi-wizard, a healer even, and who could have helped him in dealing with more than one patients laying here, needing his help while this one's ward was about to get into a panic attack - what an irony of the situation, really.

"Go back to bed, Hahkethomemah." He said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I'll be with you in a moment, child."

Dmitri was watching the situation, Wohehiv struggling to stay with Snape instead of looking for the boy who was about to get into a panic attack and with his face set in dark lines he went past the healer, knowing that Wohehiv and Sieves had the situation with Snape under control, knowing that there he couldn't do anything anyway, and he approached the boy on the floor.

"Let's get you outside for a moment, boy." He growled, pulling the boy to his feet, startled upon the child doing what he'd missed doing during the physical defence class, namely fighting him tooth and nail, trying to squirm out of his grip while kicking at him, scratching, hitting his head back at his chest. So, the boy _was_ able to fight. Without any more fuss he took the boy and threw him over his shoulder, ignoring the disapproving look Wohehiv cast at him, ignoring the "let him be, he won't harm the child" coming from the headmaster. Idiot man! He'd eat him. He'd always eaten children, especially if they were as young as Potter was.

"Nooo!" The boy was screaming at him, hitting his fists on his back and trying to roll to the side and off his shoulder, risking to fall to the floor, but he had anticipated that move. "Lemme go! I need to see the professor! Lemme go! He's dead! He's gone too and … just … I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"I don't care, boy." He growled the moment he had left the building and then stood the boy on his feet, holding him - not only because he was sure that the bloody brat would run, but because he feared that he would fall too, and as he had thought, the boy halfway struggled to get away from him and back into the house and halfway had to fight to not end up on the floor. "Snape isn't dead however. He's perfectly alive and just hurt, that's all and now stop this nonsense right now!"

"NO! You're lying and he's left me too! Just like …"

"No one left you, boy!" He growled, shaking the boy. "Stop! Right now! That's better - and now you listen! Snape isn't dead and I have taken you away only so that the healer and the headmaster can do their work without worrying about _you_ too and distracting them. Do you understand this? Answer me!"

"You - you promise?" The bloody boy asked and he scowled down at the little imp.

"Are you calling me a liar, boy?" He then asked, but there was no answer from Potter, the boy only looking up at him and it was clear that he was in a mixture of wishes - there was the wish to flee and to leave the school, to go anywhere where he was alone and where no one would find him, the wish to flee and go back to his guardian, to Snape, to make sure that he was really alive - or dead - and there was the wish to believe his words and to do what he, Dmitri, expected of him.

"Can I release you now without you running away?" He growled, looking down into those large green eyes, incredibly green eyes, eyes of a green he'd never seen before on anyone and as strange as it was, he would be able getting lost in them.

"Please …" The boy softly said. "Please … you - you promise?"

"For Merlin's sake, yes, boy." He sighed. "I promise. Your guardian will be alright. He's been hurt, but Wohehiv is a capable healer and the headmaster is with them too. Walk with me, boy." He then said, experimentally loosening the grip he had on the child, but the boy didn't run.

"I'm sorry." The boy said, just before turning and looking back at the house, unsurely, and with a huff he turned the boy back towards the road that led into town.

"Just let the adults handle the situation." He growled, leading the boy along the pavement. "How is it, that Snape is so important to you, boy?"

"I - I don't know, sir." The boy answered and he again noticed Potter calling the teachers "sir", or "professor" instead of "master", like he did during classes, only occasionally reminding himself to use "master". He was still leading the boy on his upper arm along the road, fearing that he might drop if he released him now - and after what he'd heard this afternoon - the boy had been subjected to several curses, worst of them the cruciatus, a forbidden curse. So no, neither that boy, nor Snape were weak. It took a man of a special calibre to go back to spying over and over again, knowing the dangers of it, knowing the pain that most likely would be handed out to those displeasing their master. No, he really had made a grave mistake in calling Snape a coward - or the child.

"I - he hated me so much and for so long." The boy then said, softly, his voice even worse than the usual scratching sound. "Since the first day I've set my foot into his class. And I've disliked him too, because he's always been so mean. He's been letting me know how much he hated me. I hated his class, potions. And so I messed up in the subject and that gave him even more ammunition to hate me and to take points and to give detentions. And the more detentions he gave, the more I hated potions and the worse I got in the subject."

"I see." He said, opening the door to his house and leading the boy in. Of course he could have brought the boy to his own house, but there was no one at the moment who could have had a look after him. He'd bring him back to the healer later, but for now he'd allow the two men a bit of time and space to look after Snape. Leading the boy to the kitchen he seated him into one of the chairs and then got a cup from the board which he filled with milk.

"What changed your relationship?" He then asked, placing the cup in front of the boy after he'd cast a heating charm.

"Dunno." Potter shrugged, placing his trembling hands around the cup of hot milk, as if to warm them, and he recognized the after effects of the cruciatus. Had the boy's trembling of his hands and the twitching of his limbs been because of that all the times? That would mean that he'd been subjected to that particular curse earlier already? "I thought it hadn't changed until recently, when - well, when school started, on September first. Or maybe when he'd brought me here, maybe because he'd been made my guardian and he took this seriously. Maybe because we were both strangers here. But in truth, I think that it already had started to change back at Hogwarts, last year, at the end of last year."

"What happened?" He asked, narrowing his eyes when the boy released the cup and instead ran his arms around his stomach, the thin face paler than he'd ever seen it while the green eyes went adrift.

"Sirius died." The boy said. "My godfather. He's been the only one who - you know, he's been really childish. He wouldn't have been able to look after me, but he could have taken me from my relatives anyway, and at least, he's been the only one who cared. At least that was what I thought. Because there wasn't anyone else. No one who cared if I had something to eat, or a bed, or - or …"

"Or if you were beaten." He growled. "Continue."

"No." The boy shook his head, red spots appearing on his pale face. "Haven't …"

"Whatever you wish to tell me or to not tell me, I don't care, boy." He growled at the boy. "But don't lie to me. And now continue."

"I - well … Sirius has been in Azkaban, you know?" The boy asked and he nodded his head. Of course he knew about Sirius Black. Again, he was the teacher for defence against the dark arts, of course he knew the names of the Death Eaters, or at least several names, and as Sirius Black had been a mass murderer who had betrayed his best friends to death, a mass murderer who'd escaped Azkaban even, of course it was a name he knew. The question was, how came that the man had not killed the boy after he'd been responsible for the boy's parents' deaths? "But he's been in there wrongly. It's been Peter Pettigrew who's betrayed my parents, not Sirius. Everyone thought that he was the secret keeper to my parents' hiding place, but he wasn't, because my father had changed the secret keeper silently, without informing anyone, and only in the last moment, so that Sirius would be safe, and he'd made Peter the secret keeper. It had been Peter who'd betrayed my parents and then faked his own death so that everyone thought it was Sirius. And then Sirius had been twelve years in Azkaban. Mr. Wesley said, that Sirius had somehow kept a teenager or something like that in there, that way unknowingly protecting himself from going insane or something like that, but that he was still like a teenager, inside. And that's why I think that he wouldn't have really been able caring for me, he's had troubles caring for himself."

"I see." He said, adding chocolate to the hot milk and shoving the cup closer to the boy. "Drink this." He then ordered and actually, the boy did, released his stomach and reached for the hot cup, taking a small sip of the drink. "Continue."

"Well, last year there's been that tournament." The boy continued and he nodded his head. "And somehow my name got into the goblet and I had to partake. And in the last task I ended up at a graveyard because the cup has been made a portkey and then there was uncle Voldie who'd killed Cederic and who'd cursed me. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up fighting him and our wands got stuck together somehow, and then there were people coming out of his wand, people he'd killed, Cederic, and a strange man, and my parents, and they all told me to hold on and to run when they said. And Cederic told me to take his body back, and so I did what they wanted and when I came back to Hogwarts, there was Moody who brought me to the castle. But it hadn't been Moody but Crouch junior, another Death Eater, he'd just been playing Moody and had taken Polyjuice all year long. And then Sirius had come to safe me and they fought and Moody had killed Sirius. And then there was Snape, taking me away from the defence classroom, taking me a way from Sirius' dead body and he'd cared for me and - and it's been back then that he'd changed, I think, and … and if he dies now too …"

"He won't die, boy." He growled before the boy could go into a panic attack again. "He'll be perfectly fine the moment the healer is finished with patching him up. He'll probably already be annoying Wohehiv to being released. Drink that, I won't tell you again."

Well, he started to understand.

If the boy had first lost his parents, had grown up with abusive muggles, and if the boy had then lost his godfather - he'd taken the boy from Snape in a similar way that Snape had taken the boy from Black, that could have been a reason for the boy getting into a panic. He could understand the boy's fears now. If Snape, who was Potter's guardian now, died, then the boy would have to go back to his relatives, a startling and surely frightening thought to begin with, not to mention the fact that in the boy's eyes clearly everyone who cared about him seemed to leave him, seemed to die.

No, this child really was not weak - and most likely had every reason to react the way he had reacted during their physical defence class - he would keep that in mind.

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_Wohehiv will have some trouble with two stubborn visitors in his - 'tepee' …  
_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …


	20. I am proud of that bloody imbecile

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

_**Added Note:**_

**_Please take notice of the house cup at the end of the chapter and the free post of Hufflepuff Head of House - applications are to be sent to me per either review or PM … thank you for your attention and good luck …_**

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am ...

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**Previously in Little robe **

_Well, he started to understand. _

_If the boy had first lost his parents, had grown up with abusive muggles, and if the boy had then lost his godfather - he'd taken the boy from Snape in a similar way that Snape had taken the boy from Black, that could have been a reason for the boy getting into a panic. He could understand the boy's fears now. If Snape, who was Potter's guardian now, died, then the boy would have to go back to his relatives, a startling and surely frightening thought to begin with, not to mention the fact that in the boy's eyes clearly everyone who cared about him seemed to leave him, seemed to die. _

_No, this child really was not weak - and most likely had every reason to react the way he had reacted during their physical defence class - he would keep that in mind. _

**Little robe **

**Chapter twenty**

**I am proud of that bloody imbecile  
**

"Please, Hahkethomemah." He sighed, running his hand over his face tiredly. "I am tired of arguing. I want you in that bath. The warm water with the relaxing potion will help your muscles to uncramp and it even will soothe your nerves. It is important that we fight the damage done to you as quickly as possible and as good as possible."

"It would help Professor Snape too and you didn't put _him _into a bath." The boy stubbornly argued and he didn't know how the Hogwarts healer had been able to handle those two. Not that he had a lot of experience when it came to Severus as his patient as the man was still not awake yet, but Hahkethomemah was the worst patient he'd ever had.

"Not only is he in no condition of taking a bath himself yet, but right now he needs rest." He said. "I'm sure he'd be very upset if he knew how disobedient you are, child."

"But we could bathe him, couldn't we?" The boy asked, looking up at him and ignoring the last part he'd said completely. "If it would help him, then we could put him into a bath with the potion."

"I am sure that Mokatavatah won't be too pleased upon us having him naked and in the bath in front of one of his students." He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to collect his calmness. How was it that this child -

"I don't care!" The boy said and actually started to creep closer to the man that was his guardian, clearly attempting on undressing the man. "You have the bath ready and we could get him inside and -"

"And nothing, Hahkethomemah." He said, doing his best to sound as seriously as possible. "You will leave Master Severus sleeping and you will go and take this bath, right now, young warrior."

Well, for once the boy did as he was told and slowly left the man's bed, carefully slipping down before slowly walking towards the bathroom and he followed him, just in case the boy fell.

Not only had the boy been subjected to several nasty curses, but also had he been forced to witness a Death Eater meeting, most likely being forced to watch his guardian being tortured, but also had the boy never left Severus's side on the bed since two days now - neither for sleep, nor for meals or for classes. Not that he had the boy back to classes right now, but contraire to a few weeks earlier where the boy had been startled upon two days off, he hadn't even asked about going back to school. The child was rather sitting on his bed which Glen had put beside Mokatavatah's bed, and his green eyes had never been leaving the man's face except for when he'd fallen asleep with exhaustion.

**Flashback**

_"Why won't you go to your bed over there, Harry?" Glen asked, standing in the doorway to the medical wing, watching the boy sitting on Severus' bed and he lifted his eyebrow at the apprentice. He'd already tried that, without success._

_"No." Was all the boy answered, not even looking at the other boy but still studying the still face of his still unconscious guardian._

_"He'll need rest and not you jumping on his bed." Glen said, coming closer, into the room._

_"'m not jumping." The boy answered,still not looking over._

_"Your bed is just about what - two yards? - away from Master Severus' bed." Glen tried again. _

_"Don' care." The boy said, clearly sounding annoyed. _

_"Just go over to your bed, lay down and sleep, Harry, and that is an order."_

_"You're not my guardian."_

_"No, but I'm Master Severus' apprentice and if he's -"_

_"I don' care! Just leave me alone!" Hahkethomemah called, clearly crying now. "You're not Snape's anything! But I'm his ward! He's my - he __… he's mine! He … he's my dad!" _

_Alright, knowing that there was another shift in the bond between the two, between Harry and Severus, he grabbed a calming draught and approached the bed._

_"I'm not trying to take him away, you know." Glen said the moment he left his office with the potion. "And I'm not trying to keep you from him either. I just want you to sleep." _

_"Don' wanna sleep!"_

_"And I'm sure that Master Severus won't be too pleased about your stubbornness and your speech." Glen said. A moment later the older boy had waved his hand and Harry's bed was moving closer to Severus' bed, until they touched, and without any efforts the older boy was reaching over, taking the younger boy and lifting him off Severus' bed, depositing him in his own bed that was now close. Before Hahkethomemah could protest Glen had taken the boy's blanket and had covered him with a "sleep now, or Master Severus will be very unhappy" before he turned and walked over to him, Wohehiv._

**End flashback**

He'd nearly laughed at the dumbstruck face Hahkethomemah had made upon being deposited on his own bed by Glen, but the boy had fallen asleep rather soon after that, exhaustion clearly taking the upper hand.

Watching the boy, he narrowed his eyes at the blush and the desperate look when they entered the bathroom and he understood.

"I won't leave you alone right now, child." He huffed. "Knowing your level of tiredness you'd fall asleep even before you're in the bath. I have seen you before, more than once already, I am a healer after all, don't forget that."

Well, if he had thought that this would somehow ease the teenager, then he had been rather mistaken, because the boy was sitting down at the chair in the corner, starting to get off his socks - but that was it then and the teen was rather looking anywhere but him.

"Alright." He sighed. "I will leave until you are in the tub, but I expect you to call me the moment you need help, is that understood?"

There wasn't an answer, just the boy giving away an affirmative nod - and a very relieved sigh.

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He had to admire the boy, he couldn't deny that, his strength, his loyally and his - stubbornness.

He'd visited in the mornings before classes and in the evenings after classes, and each time he'd found the boy sitting beside his teacher, not having moved an inch, wide awake despite the clear tiredness.

He knew that Manuel had been there, providing the medical wing with more potions than ever, the Mexican brewing each and any potion he could think of at the moment, hoping that one or another would ease either the boy's mental pain or the man being unconscious still. He also knew that Acheron was looking in on them three times a day too, talking with the boy, talking with the healer and even talking with Snape. And then there was Ragnar. He didn't know why the Norway would visit them, because he knew that Snape and Ragnar were no friends. Not that they were enemies. They just didn't have any kind of relation at all. But well, the man was and maybe he was trying to find out which limb he could cut off first with one of his swords.

Except of the teachers there had been the students in Snape's house. He knew that Cunningham, the apprentice, was visiting at least twice a day, and the others had visited at least once since Snape and Potter were here. Even Lamarck had been here, once, standing in the doorway and he'd approached the brat.

"He's caring too, you know" was all Lamarck had been saying, softly, before turning and running away. What was it with the bloody children on this school lately, caring about the dark and grumpy teachers like Snape and him!

"Lay down and close your eyes." He growled at the brat who looked up at him, startled. "Don't argue with me or you'll find yourself in detention. I'm sure that standing in a corner for a few hours will keep you from arguing in future.

Well, the boy looked at him startled for a moment, the incredible green eyes widening comically for a moment before the small form quickly - nearly jumped - into his own bed and beneath the covers, pulling them up as far as possible before closing his eyes.

"Good." He growled. "Because this wing is the only peaceful and silent place in this bloody school where I can read the paper and I won't have you disturbing this." And with these words he sat down at the table close to Snape's bed, opening the newspaper, his eyes however weren't scanning the paper at all but, hidden beneath his lowered lids, were resting on the child, watching how the brat was soon falling asleep.

Bloody children, really. Needed a babysitter despite being fifteen years old. He should have gone at sea the way his father had planned it for him. Then he wouldn't have to look after snotty knee-high boys. Really!

As if he hadn't enough at his hands with his own house! No! He had to look at Snape's boy too now!

But honestly, the healer didn't manage the child, that bloody Indian was too lenient with the boy that was defying him at every turn he was taking. Not able to set a clear order, the damn redskin. How did they raise their children to warriors, he wondered. It wasn't that he didn't like Wohehiv, honestly - no, he rather didn't like _anyone_. He was a misanthrope, and that did include himself, because sometimes he didn't even like himself either.

Sighing a very suffering sigh he got off his chair when there was a sob coming from the child and with a dark look down at the small and still sleeping form he placed his hand at the thin chest, hoping that this would be enough to shun any nightmares without having to give away a few ridiculous words.

"Nice of you, to look after the boy, Dmitri." Wohehiv said, the man coming through the door.

"One has to look after your patients." He growled at the man and strangely, the boy beneath his hand calmed down. What a strange child, really. "You haven't been there, after all."

"I've taken a look at the house of music, making sure that everything is alright there while Severus is here." The bloody man said and he scowled at him.

"That's what Acheron is there for." He huffed.

"Acheron has enough on his hands." Wohehiv chuckled. "These two haven't died while I've been away for half an hour, I see."

"Thanks to me looking after them, you bloody healer!" He growled, going back to the table and sitting back down so that he finally could read the paper. "And now leave me alone, so that I can have a bit of peace and read the paper."

"Of course, Dmitri, I'd never disturb you in watching the - paper."

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Taking a deep breath he realized that he had to be in the medical wing, the smell of clean linen and potions was unmistakable and releasing the same breath in a suffering sigh he forced his eyes open, knowing that he'd hate the sight of the white wing, knowing that he'd hate the location at all. But well, at least it wasn't Poppy who'd hover over him like a vulture.

_'No, not Poppy, but Wohehiv instead.'_ A small voice in the back of his mind whispered annoyingly.

The white ceiling was the first thing he was seeing and for a moment he wondered why in Merlin's name this wing had to have a white ceiling while all the remainder of the building was made of brown wooden logs and heavy grey stones. He hated white, and he hated white rooms just the more. The next thing his eyes fell on was the white wall opposite his bed and he had to keep himself from giving away another suffering sigh. One day he'd de-color Wohehiv's white and clean medical wing into a black ward - now, that would be fun, wouldn't it?

His eyes finally however didn't fall on said bloody healer sitting close by or near his office - no of course it wouldn't be the healer sitting in the medical wing, but Dmitri and he wondered what the man was doing there, watching him with his steely eyes.

"Awake, finally." The man growled and he huffed, trying to sit up but failing miserably and he growled at himself, forcing himself up until he was leaning against the headboard of the bed, and he was glad that Dmitri had not made an attempt of helping him. His eyes finally fell on Potter laying in the bed beside him, not in just simply a bed but a bed that was directly beside him, clearly knowingly placed there, and his worries heightened a few notches.

"How is the boy?" He asked, remembering the immense headache Potter had suffered from. He didn't have to be too well if he was here in the medical wing together with him.

"How should I know?" Dmitri asked and he huffed. "Last I heard was he'd had visions about the meeting his guardian had attended so foolishly, watching his guardian getting tortured and being subjected to several curses."

"He's - what … ?" He asked, not trusting his ears and he waved his hand at the brat, casting a diagnostic charm. The boy had what? He'd - Merlin! If the child had really been subjected to several curses that had been used by the Dark Lord, then - the nerve damage was worse than it had been and there was a new scar on the boy's chest. Except of that Potter seemed to be alright - minus his exhaustion on body and core.

But how was it possible that Potter - what if … Potter's headache had started - roughly - about the same time his arm had started burning, the moment the Dark Lord had called - what if Potter had felt that call? What if Potter had been drawn to the meeting, the Dark Lord using Legillimence through a link he had with the boy? Could he really sent curses through that link? Was it possible to …

He'll need to learn to occlude.

"I agree on that, Snape." Dmitri said and only now he realized that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "He's worth you teaching him. You can be proud of your boy, Snape." The bloody man then said and he frowned. "That bloody boy hasn't left your side since we've brought you in three days ago and he would be sleeping in your bed had your apprentice not put his bed beside yours. And even then he's never gone anywhere, sitting all day long on the foot of your bed, watching you. And he's given me a pretty fight in which I gained a few nice bruises when they first brought you in." The defence teacher then added, getting off his chair and leaving the medical ward, leaving him alone to ponder over the man's words. In other words, Potter had disregarded his demands of partaking in meals, of resting and of learning. He'd done nothing than sitting beside him all day long. He'd have a serious word with the brat the moment he was awake next.

"I _am_ proud of that bloody imbecile." He softly said to the empty room.

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"Hahkethomemah, please." He sighed, again, sitting down on the chair beside the boy's bed, tiredly. "You are fighting me since you are here and I am tired of that. You are not sleeping, you are not eating, you are not taking your potions and you refuse to take the bath with the relaxing potion. You are not making it easy, not for me and not for yourself either. And it is getting worse with each day. Please, just do finally take that bath."

"You're still not having the Professor in that bath either." The boy stubbornly said and he took a deep breath to calm his nerves upon the same subject being discussed yet again.

"I will have Severus taking the same bath the moment he wakens, child." He said. "I do understand your worries and I do marvel your loyally and your persistence, but right now it is out of place. One thing at a time - and you are awake, so you can take that bath."

"I won't!" The boy this time openly refused , looking at him daringly. "Not before you've had the professor in the same bath!"

"I am sure that your professor won't be too happy about your constant disregarding of his wishes." He finally said, something he'd tried to avoid, knowing that guilt was the last thing the child now needed. "You're not making it any better for Mokatavatah either, child, he needs you to obey his wishes. And I'm sure he will be very unhappy with you the moment he awakens."

"He won't awake anyway!" The boy suddenly shouted and he held his breath for a moment, startled. "He won't awake ever! And you cannot make me - you - you're not helping him! And I don't want your help either and - and I hate you! I don't want you, I want the professor!"

"Merlin!" Came said professor's voice and quickly he went over to the man.

"Mokatavatah!" He couldn't help calling out, clearly feeling relieved, feeling that nothing could go wrong now.

Lifting his hand to stop the bloody healer he kept his eyes trained on the bent over form of Potter, knowing that this here was more important right now than anything else Wohehiv could have wanted of him, wondering when the boy had started to feel so deeply about him so that he was close to a mental breakdown because he wasn't waking.

"You _do_ have me, Potter." He growled. "Whatever reason for you'd want me, of all people."

"You're lying!" The boy said from between his arms where he'd hidden his face away and he frowned. "I don't have you! You've gone away like everyone else and now you won't come back and I have no one and … and I hate you for leaving me alone, because I've known that you'll do and I've known and … but you know, I don't care! I've been alone all my life and I don't care if you care, because … because if I don't care then it won't hurt if you don't care and … and … damn! All I ever wanted was someone who cared, but I can't have that!"

"You _do have me,_ child!" He said, more forceful and louder than before. "And I won't leave you alone either. I do very well care for you, you idiot child!"

"No, you don't!" The boy sobbed, nearly screamed. "You're not even waking up anymore and …"

"Potter!" He called over, leaning towards the boy and taking the thin shoulders. "I am awake, Potter, you idiot child! What do you think who's talking? My ghost? I'm not dead yet and I'm very much awake enough to take you over my knee for a good spanking because you have disregarded not only meals but rest and any other order Wohehiv gave you just as well!"

"But … but … _professor!_"

Well, he should have foreseen such an emotional move, because a moment later he had a handful of teenage boy in his arms, his ward clinging to him desperately, crying and for once it wasn't the soft crying of a child that tried to hide away but a child that was crying his entire pain into the world, emotional pain that had to be unbearable for the past three days.

When had the world turned so much? So much that it had jumped off its hinges? So much so that this particular child was desperately clinging to him? Not leaving his side for three days while he'd been unconscious? So much so that - closing his eyes he wrapped his own arms around the thin form, growling at the body that had become noticable thinner again, and he leaned back against the headboard again, relaxing, pulling the child with him.

If the Lord had decided that this child was meant to be his, then who was he to deny the Lord's wish? Because, what the Lord has joined together, let no one separate, so they said, and even if it was meant marriage with this saying, this here, it was a bond they had formed, the bond between a child and a father, a bond of love, just as marriage was a bond of love, and so why not taking it for a man and his child just as well?

His child.

A strange thought still, but somehow he didn't even mind that thought.

"Don't go 'gain." The boy finally sobbed and he took a deep breath, carding his fingers through the black hair of the child he was holding.

"I won't." He seriously said.

"You've said that before." The boy accused and he took a deep breath, knowing that the child was right.

"I know." He just said. "Anyway, I won't."

"Promise." The boy demanded of him - of him! _Demanded of him!_

And yet -

"I promise." He seriously said.

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"Are you ready to take your bath now, Hahkethomemah?" He asked after coming back to his two patients. He'd left them alone after the emotional breakdown from the boy, allowing them some privacy while he had taken notes in Mokatavatah's file.

"Don't even argue, Harry." The Potions Master said. "You will do as you are told, right now. Not to mention that I would like having a few words in privacy with Wohehiv so we can discuss your further treatment. Not - a word, young man, I mean it. You will face detention for the remainder of your life if you start arguing with me. I am your guardian and you will obey my command. And right now you will go and take this bloody bath. And take your time, brat, I won't have you back within the next thirty minutes."

Watching the boy smiling and then going over to the bathroom he took a deep breath. It was good to have Severus back to deal with the boy, because he had been unable to, he'd been too soft, always fearing he'd hurt the boy. He didn't have the same problem with any other child, but no other child had been abused the way this particular child had been, and so, with the other children he didn't feel the need to - be less demanding as he did with this one.

"He's walking slowly and carefully." Severus stated. "More careful than before. How is he?"

"Well, the nerve damage he's been suffering from has worsened upon this new attack with the cruciatus, but we are working on this with a relaxing potion in a hot bath he should be taking at a daily basis." He then explained. "He will still be needing the nerve regenerative potion, but this bath will help him. He's had a cut over his chest, from a curse too, but there's nothing left than a scar now, we've taken care of this easily, even though the cut has been close to his heart, too close to my liking."

"His lungs?" Severus asked and he took a deep breath.

"Have been hurt too, because of the cut, but we got this under control." He then answered, knowing that Severus wouldn't kill him. "All of those curses happened so quickly, we've barely had the situation with one under control when the next came."

"I know." Severus softly said. "The Dark Lord has been particularly angry."

"Over you being a spy, I guess." He couldn't help stating and the way Mokatavatah was looking up at him, startled, he knew that he'd been right. "Hahkethomemah has been screaming at him, crying, pleading with him to let you go. I think his emotional pain has been ten time worse than his physical pain. I've never seen a child in such desperation - and I do not wish to ever see such again."

"What is this bath about?" Severus asked and he looked back at the man and it was clear that he wished to start a new subject.

"It is a hot bath with a relaxing potion." He answered. "My people have used it for decades. It relaxes not only the muscles but it soothes overstrained nerves too and is often used upon nerve damage, never mind what kind of nerve damage."

"I see." Mokatavatah said in his usual collected way, fighting his way out of bed and he looked at the man disapprovingly.

"You are not well enough to leave your bed yet, Severus." He said, seriously.

"And you are in no position to tell me what to do and what not to do when it comes to medical decisions, medicine man." Severus growled back at him and with his hands held high in surrender he took a step back from the bed, allowing the man out.

"Potions Masters and healers are the worst patients." He commented - "except of their children." - a moment later he had one Potions Master meeting the floor and studying the tiles from a closer point of view the moment the man's knees gave way and he gave him a pointed _'I told you so'_ look before picking the man up and seating him back where he belonged to, in his bed.

"He's lost weight." The bloody man said, ignoring his own condition.

"I know." He sighed. "I have provided him with nutrient potions, but he has refused to eat more than a spoonful - or a forkful - of this or that. Just as he has refused to leave your side at all."

"I know." Mokatavatah said this time. "Dmitri told me so yesterday evening."

"You have been awake yesterday evening already?" He asked, looking at the man sharply. "Why haven't you said so?"

"Because you haven't been there!" Severus growled. "Dmitri has been there, annoying me and I've fallen back asleep shortly after he left - and before you've been back."

"Why haven't you told me later?" He shook his head, really, startling the boy like this! He was sure that Hahkethomemah wouldn't have been so scared and so desperate had he known that he'd been awake already.

"Because I have been sleeping later, you imbecile!" Severus growled and he chuckled.

"I mean today, Mokatavatah." He shook his head. "Why haven't you said so today when you woke?"

"Because I've had an armful of disobedient student that had fought you over each and every order you've given him, as it seems." Severus said and Merlin, yes, he had to admit that the Potions Master was definitely correct. He was just so very glad that finally the man was back with them and that he didn't have to fight the child anymore. This teacher was so much better in handling the difficult children, as it seemed.

"Indeed. Are you hungry?" He then asked.

"That depends on the dishes." The man answered. "I'll wait however for the boy so that I can eat together with him. He's been starving himself for long enough and I won't have any of that for any longer."

"For you it will be soup and rice." He smirked at the man. "And for that child too until his stomach is used to more again - both your stomaches." Well, the growl he got from the man, it made him smile. A grumpy man, Mokatavatah was, but a caring man anyway. He knew that he would have to fight more with the man over the next few days, Mokatavatah being a very proud and stubborn man who surely would refuse help, but he knew how to handle this particular man.

Some time ago he had wondered how old the Potions Master might be, pondering about the man looking like fifty but most likely being younger, he had been startled to see on the diagnostic he had cast three days ago, after Dmitri had carried the man into his tepee, that the Potions Master was just thirty-five years old and therefore even two years younger than _he_ was. He'd also been startled upon all the scars on the man's body. So he'd been right, and Severus Snape had lived a harsh life, a life that had made him harsh in the process, that had made him cold, and dark, and indifferent - at least outwardly. And yet, he realized that this might be the reason as to why he seemed able handling the difficult children - because if anyone had the right being demanding to an abused child, then it was this man here.

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"Professor?" He asked, trying to not sound so damn unsure.

Snape had told him to go to bed, into his own bed, after he had been sitting at the foot of _Snape's_ bed again, and to lay down and sleep, even though it was just shortly after noon and shortly after dinner - what had been a mess - and now he was laying in his bed and the professor had covered him with a second blanket.

"What is it, child?" The man asked back, looking over at him and he could feel the teacher's dark eyes on him. Yet, he refused to reopen his eyes, because it felt just too good to finally relax. He hadn't been able to relax at all during the past few days, always the thought nagging in the back of his mind that his guardian wouldn't wake again.

"'m sorry." He softly murmured. "Cause I've been disobeying Wohehiv and because I didn't do what you expected of me."

"We will talk about that the moment you are better, Mr. Potter." The professor said and he sighed. He should have known that Snape wouldn't let it pass without anything. "Not now. Right now I expect you to sleep and to be as good a boy as you have been the past few weeks."

"'k." He murmured, sleepily, but then a thought struck him and he shot up in his bed, looking over at the man, scared.

"Professor!" He then called out. Merlin! If - but he hadn't - and …

"What is it now, child?" Snape asked and he tried to figure out if the man was angry - without success, because Snape was as indifferent as always.

"I … you - you've said that you'd be proud of me and that I would be as good as one of your Slytherins and … but now I've been so bad and … and surely you …"

"Stop worrying, brat." Snape said, cutting his words off, but he couldn't. What if the man was back to hating him? And what if he wasn't - no one had ever been proud of him, no one had ever told him that he was proud, or that he had done something good, or anything, but Snape had, and Snape had said so even in front of others and -

"Come here, you idiot child." Snape growled and a moment later the man's fingers curled around his upper arm and pulled him close until he was resting with his side on the teacher's chest. "You have been very disobedient towards Wohehiv and therefore disregarding my wishes too, but you have been scared and you have been unsure about not only your future but about loosing another person you have started depending on." He then started, trying to somehow make it clear to the child that - no, he was not angry and yes, he was still proud of him, but that he would be in a lot of trouble if he ever acted the same again. "Not only do I understand that, but also it is nothing my Slytherins would have not done in the very same way as you have. They too would have fought Poppy tooth and nail while not leaving my side - and they would have gotten in the very same trouble you will get into if you act the same ever again. For future notice, if such happens ever again, then I expect you to still regard my wishes - namely you not missing meals, taking a rest and a break at the least during the day, and obeying your healer's orders. Did I make myself very clear? Good, because that is important. I am not angry at you, Harry, and I am still very proud of you. I am very happy about you caring enough so that you have not left my side, and I - feel some affection for your loyally, but your health is more important than that and I would never forgive myself if you seriously risked your health over mine."

"'k." He said, sighing, closing his eyes and starting to settle again - just to have the man growling at him.

"Your bed, Mr. Potter." Snape growled at him, shaking him awake and he grumbled while moving back into his own bed, sleepily, barely awake to notice the "I'd like to sleep at one point or another and I'd like having my bed for myself without your limbs hitting me in a fitful sleep" nor the man covering him with both blankets again. He was already in the land of the dreaming when his teacher settled back into his own bed, closing his own eyes and slowly drifting to sleep himself.

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**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_how to take different kinds of magic …  
_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

And why in Merlin's name didn't anyone tell me that I didn't add the newest outcome of the house cup during the past two chapters ? Catlady ? Arithmancy Master ? Why didn't you tell me ? you're the other heads of houses !

And who in Merlin's name is the Hufflepuff head of house anyway ? I've searched through my entire in- and outbox, but I didn't find the Hufflepuff head of house, nor anyone having accepted the post ... in other words - I think this post is still free and if any of you readers are interested - or if the Hufflepuff head of house is found - then just tell me ...

At the present time it looks like this:

701 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

694 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

572 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

336 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: free post


	21. accidental magic and underage magic

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously in Little robe **

_"For future notice, if such happens ever again, then I expect you to still regard my wishes - namely you not missing meals, taking a rest and a break at the least during the day, and obeying your healer's orders. Did I make myself very clear? Good, because that is important. I am not angry at you, Harry, and I am still very proud of you. I am very happy about you caring enough so that you have not left my side, and I - feel some affection for your loyally, but your health is more important than that and I would never forgive myself if you seriously risked your health over mine."_

_"'k." He said, sighing, closing his eyes and starting to settle again - just to have the man growling at him._

_"Your bed, Mr. Potter." Snape growled at him, shaking him awake and he grumbled while moving back into his own bed, sleepily, barely awake to notice the "I'd like to sleep at one point or another and I'd like having my bed for myself without your limbs hitting me in a fitful sleep" nor the man covering him with both blankets again. He was already in the land of the dreaming when his teacher settled back into his own bed, closing his own eyes and slowly drifting to sleep himself._

**Little robe **

**Chapter twenty-one**

**Accidental magic and underage magic**

"What in Merlin's name -" He asked, his eyes narrowed at one of the pillars, a person hiding outside the circle of flames Quirrel had called up. "Don't tell me that this was Albus." He then said, retreating from the boy's mind.

He had explained the situation, had told Potter that he desperately needed to learn how to occlude his mind so to protect it from the Dark Lord, and the boy had agreed. He then had started explaining how one's mind would work, what Legillimency would do to one's mind and how Occlumency was protecting one's mind. Of course there had been a lot of questions, but he'd given a book to the boy that would - hopefully - answer most of them and Harry had been reading all afternoon and all evening, until he'd taken the book away from the brat so that he could lie down and sleep.

And now, this morning, he had started to use legillimence to enter the child's mind - surely not a pleasant thing, he had to admit that, entering the chaotically mind of a teenager, but he knew that it was necessary. Harry needed to know what it felt like, and he needed to being able to throw him out one day. Of course he knew that it wouldn't happen from day one to day two, that it would take several weeks of practise on the boy's side, but they had to begin somewhere.

"He was." Said boy answered. "He was there all the time, and through all the tasks, and he's been watching us. And in the end he was waiting to rescue me, or us, I don't really know, at the last second, but until then he'd been watching and making a rough estimate of my abilities. He didn't care if he let Voldemort flee in the process, I think."

"May I view this memory upon a closer inspection?" He asked, not wanting to force legillimence upon the boy concerning this and he got a hesitant nod. But once more, Snape felt his blood leaving his face while he followed Potter's eyes - there was indeed the headmaster, crouched by one of the pillars, hiding away and watching, waiting in the shadows while an eleven year old boy fought and defeated the Dark Lord. And it was disturbing his balance again.

Snape had always seen himself as a creature of shadows, as a man walking in twilight, standing between two worlds, the world of darkness and its master, Lord Voldemort, on one side, and the world of the light and its wise, twinkling and good guardian, Albus Dumbledore. There had always been good and bad, clearly separated. Voldemort was bad, and Albus was good. Voldemort brought pain and misery and Albus brought relief and happiness. And he was walking between both, between both worlds and between both masters.

Of course he had always known that Albus was a _very_ powerful wizard, and willing to unleash these powers should it be necessary - and of course he'd also always known that a wizard in Albus' position could barely do without manipulation, deception and pulling strings. But he had always thought that Albus was doing these things only hesitatingly, that he thought twice whether he lied to someone or controlled their lives from afar, or not. That he would never sacrifice a person or cause harm when there was any other way at all. And especially if it were children that were entrusted to him though school.

Now it seemed that he had been wrong in that, and quite spectacularly so, just as he had been wrong in so many other thigns regarding not only Harry but Albus too.

Albus had chosen to wait in the shadows while the boy had suffered, he had let Potter fight against a foe too mighty to be vanquished by a mere child, and had lied about it afterwards, even to his most trusted companions.

"I would like watching another memory." He carefully said, knowing that he was asking a lot of the boy. "During your second year. You have been in the chamber of secrets, according to Albus, and you have saved Ginevra Weasley without as much as a scratch while once again meeting the Dark Lord."

"O-ok." The boy unsurely said and he summoned a vial.

"Not through legillimence." He said. "I realize how difficult this all has to be for you, Harry, and I would like viewing this memory together with you in a pensive what will be a much more comfortable way than having me in your mind."

Well, five minutes later he was in the pensive Wohehiv kept in his office for medical necessities of viewing memories - and cursing.

He had watched Harry and a young Dark Lord discussing, the boy desperately trying to find a solution and to have Riddle making a mistake, even though he knew that the Dark Lord even back then had not been making mistakes at all. That boy had been a genius upon arriving at Hogwarts already. But already he could see the Dark Lord's weakness, his need to explain himself and to make - big words.

He'd felt the desperation coming from the boy who had - laughably when considering the situation - claimed that Albus Dumbledore would not be gone as long as one student was believing in him, while again he had been watching what he had seen during Potter's first year, the boy confronting Tom Riddle, in the chamber of secrets this time, and Albus Dumbledore standing behind one of the large stone pillars, just waiting - and watching.

But this time he was desperately waiting for Dumbledore to make a move while watching the basilisk tooth running through the boy's arm and he actually took the boy's arm, the _real_ boy's arm, from the boy who stood beside him, watching too, and he couldn't help running his hand over the scar where the basilisk tooth had pierced the boy's arm completely. a twelve year old child, having his arm pierced by a deathly creature - and Albus Dumbledore was standing behind that bloody pillar, watching, doing nothing.

"What in Merlin's name were you waiting for, Albus." He whispered, placing a slender, calloused hand softly on the boy's shoulder, trying to give that comfort Albus had not given.

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"That was enough memory watching for one day." Wohehiv said the moment the two came back from the pensive, watching both with his eyes narrowed. Both looked tired, exhausted, and seeing that Severus had woken just yesterday, and seeing that Harry had until yesterday defied him in nearly everything that would have healed or eased him, it was no wonder. Both of them were just recovering.

There wasn't an answer, from both, but both nodded at him and Severus actually was looking ill and shocked - something he didn't like as there was barely anything that would shock that man.

"I would like leaving this memory in your pensive, Wohehiv." Severus however said. "And add one or another too, to show Acheron."

"I am alright with this, but not today, and surely not right now." He answered and again Severus inclined his head. "Right now I need to draw a bit of your blood to do a few tests, Hahkethomemah." He then added, starting to prepare the syringe he'd laid at the side table while the two wizards had been in the pensive - to have said boy squeaking wide eyed and jumping beneath his blanket a moment later.

For a moment he cast a startled and questioning look at Severus, wondering how this boy who had endured so much in his life already, could be scared of a small needle, but then he gently pulled the blanket away from the hiding form, not an easy task, considering that the boy was clutching the blanket over his head, and then he turned the teen on his back, the boy's eyes going big like saucers while he skidded away as far as possible from him. Taking a deep breath he cast a privacy shield, just in case that someone decided to enter the medical wing right now.

"Would you please give me your help here, Severus?" He then asked the other wizard, knowing that Harry's reaction wouldn't go any better.

"Alright, Harry, come on. This will be over in a second." Severus said calmly, sitting down on the bed and pulling Harry against his chest.

"But I'm not ill and - and I feel much, much better than a few days ago when - no - I - please." The boy begged, the whole time staring at him, horrified, watching him preparing the needle. "There's no need to test anything … really … it won't happen again, I promise …"

"Harry, it won't hurt much, it's just a sting." Mokatavatah said, trying to calm the meanwhile trembling boy. "You have gone through much worse."

But Hahkethomemah just shook his head miserably and tried to get out of Severus' grip when he turned to him and leaned closer.

"Harry, your arm has been pierced by the tooth of a basilisk three years ago." Severus said and he looked up at the man, startled, barely believing the man's words. "And you have not even cried out then, you have not just pulled this deathly tooth out of your arm but just stuck it into that book to destroy it also. This here is just a needle, Harry."

"It is alright to be scared, Harry, but it isn't necessary. Like Severus said it is just a sting and a little itching." Wohehiv cleaned Harry's arm while Severus had a death grip on the boy and his arm. "Alright, Harry, that will sting a bit now." He warned Harry before he pushed the needle through the skin. A moment later he watched Severus holding a deathly pale teenager whose entire rigid body was covered in perspiration, only the green eyes still large at the blood that was slowly starting to seep into the syringe.

"Tell me about your third year, Harry." Severus said to distract the boy when he felt Harry's body in his arms going rigid, the pale face becoming damp with perspiration, and watching the blood stopping after a few drops only, he knew that the boy's system had started shutting down.

"Don' feel good." The boy murmured instead, his speech clearly slurred and wordlessly he summoned a bottle of coke he was sure Wohehiv had in his office - a muggle remedy for a failing circulation that even wizard medics resorted to, and kept just in case.

"I know." He calmly said, opening the bottle and holding it at the boy's lips, Harry having stopped struggling, the boy fighting against his nausea instead while Wohehiv lifted the boy's legs, summoned the nearby table and deposited them at the now higher place. "Your third year, why have you been out there even after you were brought to the hospital wing? And I know that you have been out a second time during that night."

"Cause - cause Dmbled're sent 's, 'Mione an' me, back 'n time." The boy answered, obediently. "D'nno how l'ng, t'save Buckbeak an' S'rius. R'lly don' feel good." The boy then added, his breathing coming in short gasps and with a pause whenever the nausea threatened to take the upper hand.

"I know." He softly said, watching Wohehiv waving his wand at the syringe that slowly started to fill with the boy's blood again. "Just one more moment. Your blood has been unwilling for a moment, but Wohehiv has your stubborn blood under control now. I should have known that your blood is as unbending and as defiant as are you. Drink! Where from in Merlin's name did you get a time-turner?" Severus desperately asked, clearly grasping at straws.

"'Mione had one, she … she'd too many classes … she'd taken all of the elect'ves." The boy explained, already sounding a bit better upon the coke he'd given him to drink. "She's been attending two classes at a time, al-always confusing us to how she kept appearing out of nowhere."

Severus took a deep breath and gritted his teeth in apparent anger. McGonagall and Dumbledore had really and truly allowed a thirteen year old child to play with time for the frivolous actions of taking more classes than a simple twenty-four hours day allowed? And he had thought he had worked together with responsible adults and teachers! How could they have risked a thirteen year old girl's sanity that way? It was the end in Severus' book and had he been holding anything - besides of the boy - it would have smashed into millions of pieces. He was furious!

Not however because he had been tricked or because Black had gotten away - even though in the end, he hadn't, but that was a different story and he couldn't bring himself to being happy about it, seeing that it had happened over the boy's sanity. No he was furious with Dumbledore for recklessly endangering two of his student's lives. He knew that Dumbledore was able to become invisible, and so he also knew that Dumbledore could have gotten Black to safety easily instead of sending two thirteen year old children to do such a thing!

Another blow in his view of Dumbledore, knowing that he had done that, risking a girl's sanity, a boy's sanity, both their lives even, and Black's life - just to test Harry.

Concerning Harry's first year, he now knew that the boy had not gone out of line just to disobey the rules, but that he had told a teacher, McGonagall, and only then he had taken actions after it had been clear that no adult would do something - just to learn that Dumbledore had been testing him. Concerning his second year, he now knew that again Harry had gone to a teacher, that again, he'd not gone to chase dragons and monsters for fun, but that he had gone to safe a girl after it had been clear that the adults around him wouldn't do anything. And concerning his third year, he now knew that it had been Dumbledore himself who'd sent the children out with a time tuner to do a dangerous task that the headmaster himself could have done safely and he wondered what else Dumbledore had lied with.

Watching Wohehiv pulling the syringe from Harry's arm, he took a deep breath before turning the still trembling form in his grip so that he could hold him more comfortably.

"I have one more question, child." He said while running his hand up and down the bony back, hoping the gesture would calm the child. "All your bouts of underage magic, what is it about them? After I have seen those memories, I fear that there might have been a reason for your disregarding the wizarding law - what would explain as to why you have never been expelled before this year.

"I've only done underage magic once since I went to Hogwarts." The boy said into his robes, rather talking with his chest than with himself, but right now he didn't mind. "And that was because of uncle Vernon' sister. She's insisted that my mum had bad blood and that there was something wrong with her, and she's compared her to her disgusting dogs. And then uncle Vernon told her that my parents were drunks who'd gotten themselves killed in a car crash. And then I've been so furious and it just happened, that I blew up my aunt. I didn't mean to break the wizarding law, it just happened because I've been so angry."

"Hush, child." He sighed. understanding. "That was not underage magic, but accidental magic, that's a difference and I understand. Had I been present while your aunt told such lies about Lily, I would have transformed her into a pig."

"You … you would have?" The boy asked, peering up at him from between his robes where he'd started hiding.

"Of course I would have." He huffed at the child and the large green eyes looking up at him in admiration. "And that would have been the least of what I would have done to that bloody family. What about your holidays before second year? This hover charm you've done?"

"That wasn't me, sir." The boy said, still large eyed. "I didn't even know what a hover charm was until then, we didn't learn that in first year."

"No, surely not." He frowned. "You haven't learned in your second year however how to blow someone up either."

"But it really wasn't me." The boy desperately said, nearly sobbed. "It's been Dobby, the Malfoy house elf. He appeared in my room at the Dursleys', and he'd said that he'd stop me from going back to Hogwarts. He'd known that Lucius Malfoy had put that diary in Ginny's cauldron and he was determined to safe me. I don't know why, but I'm telling the truth, honestly …"

"I believe you, Harry." He said, taking a deep breath. "Stop worrying. I don't know why Lucius' house elf would want saving you either, but Dobby has been of great help for the order since. What about the tongue your cousin was growing?"

"That's been Fred and George." The boy answered, shuddering. "Mr. Weasley came to collect me for the Quidditch world cup, and Fred and George came with him and dropped one of their trick sweets on the floor because they knew that Dudley was on a diet because he's been so fat, and he couldn't resist picking it up. He ate it and ended up with a tongue the size of the living room. Part of me was really glad I didn't have to go back this summer."

He could feel the boy shuddering in fear of what Dursley would have done to him and he narrowed his eyes at the boy.

"What would have happened, Harry, had you gone back after the World Cup?" He seriously asked, eliciting another shudder from the small form.

"Would've gotten the cane and a week in … in the cupboard." The boy said. "Dunno with Dudley though. Dudley's the one who's unpredictable. Uncle Vernon's normally careful enough to not break too many bones so that I could still do my chores and work in the house so that aunt Petunia has a help. But Dudley didn't care less whether he broke bones or whether I could do my chores. He actually loved it to get me into trouble with my chores and he's always been happy and laughing while watching uncle Vernon whipping me later."

"I see." Severus murmured, again wondering how much he had misjudged the teenager. If what he said was correct then he had only done one piece of accidental magic. There was nothing he was happier about than the fact it was over his mother. It seemed she wasn't forgotten by everyone after all. Severus had hated the fact that Lily seemed forgotten in the entire boy who lived rubbish while it had been James here and James there. And yet, here sat a boy who loved his mother very much obviously, enough to get emotional enough to blow up his aunt. Not to mention that it was an impressive display of wandless accidental magic anyway.

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Wohehiv had taken Harry off his arms and had placed him on his own bed - which still stood close to his, both beds touching - when the boy had fallen asleep on him, and he had to admit, he had been glad. The boy was still too lightweighted, _much_ too lightweighted, dangerously thin, but he himself was not at the highest of his strength either and with the time the boy had gotten heavy on him. Not that he would have admitted that, surely not. He was the adult in this and if the boy fell asleep on him, then surely he'd manage holding the bloody imp in his sleep. It was rather that - well, the bloody Cheyenne had noticed, something that didn't sit too well with him.

What had shocked him most today however, was the conversation he'd had with the child, was what he had learned today.

Merlin, if only he'd learned of all that earlier, if only the child had allowed the hat to place him in his house, he would have been able to have this very same conversations years ago already! And he could have helped the child years ago already, could have kept him from falling into Albus' machineries and traps, could have kept him from being tested and then used as a weapon by Albus.

For a moment he wondered - maybe it had not been coincidence, the little fact that it had been Hagrid, who'd accompanied Harry to his first visit at Diagon Alley to buy his school things for his first year. Maybe Albus had sent Hagrid because he knew - neither would Hagrid look too close, nor would he keep his bloody mouth but would tell the boy his story, how the Dark Lord had killed his parents and how the Dark Lord had been a - _'slimy Slytherin'_.

What got to him more than anything else however, was Harry's adamant statement that Albus knew. It wasn't something he liked to think about, because still Albus was the headmaster of a school, was entrusted with children and the welfare of young wizards and witches, and surely Albus wouldn't endanger one of his students by purposely setting out for the boy to meet the Dark Lord. If anyone knew just how insane the Dark Lord was, it was Albus, after all.

On the other hand - he'd seen it himself, he'd seen the boy's memories with his own eyes, he'd seen Albus standing in the shadows, watching - not to mention that he had no other explanation as to how and why the bloody mirror had appeared in the upper castle during the first year either - his only explanation too was, Albus had placed it there for Harry to find.

And Merlin help the old headmaster, because if Dumbledore had really known, then he would never hear the end of it by him, Severus Snape. He wasn't a man that forgave or relented easily - if at all - and sending the boy, Lily's son, to the Dark Lord, that made him furious. He had not risked his life to safe the boy for Dumbledore to test him and to use him as a weapon! And he had risked his life, over and over again, while playing the spy, to safe the child!

Stopping in his thoughts he looked up, blinking, meeting the dark brown eyes of the Cheyenne watching him calmly - and he knew there and then that Harry was indeed telling the truth. Dumbledore had been testing him - hence the easy beatable defences he had set up - not easy, but possible for a first year to go through if he had one or another help in friends. The chess game - and Weasley being an excellent chess player. His potions riddle - and Granger being a lover of riddles in the first place. The winged key - and Harry being the youngest seeker of all times. The troll - and the three of them together having fought a troll already. It couldn't be coincidence. It was impossible to be coincidence. Harry had told the truth and Dumbledore had been testing him so that he knew how soon he could use him as his weapon in the war against the Dark Lord.

"If I am correct, then this child has been asking for help over and over again, but no help has been given." Wohehiv softly said and he took a deep breath before releasing it slowly, nodding his head. "And now he has stopped asking for help, because the past had taught him that he wouldn't get it anyway. It is a strange thing, with our brain, with our bodies actually. Our entire body is doing exactly as we tell it. And if his pleas for help are ignored often enough then his brain tells him - _'learn out of it and don't ask for help, because you won't get it'_. He will need to learn giving part of his autonomy over to an adult now and he will need to learn how to ask for help again."

"You do realize that this will be a mission nearly impossible." He snarled in fury. "Dumbledore will be in a lot of trouble next time we meet."

"It will be difficult, but it will be possible." Wohehiv said. "His brain has just to re-learn that he will receive help - never mind if he asks or not - and that things will be much easier with the help of others. He can re-learn that, it will just take some time - and the patience from us."

Growling at the bloody healer he threw aside his blanket and then got off the bed, went to the bathroom while his mind was reeling with everything he had learned. He could just as well take this bloody bath with the relaxing potion while he was thinking, and maybe that would help his brain, that was in knots, to relax too so that he could get a bit of calm and clear thinking done.

If Dumbledore already knew, then there was no point in going to him for help. He would have to deal with the Dursleys' on his own, to make sure that they couldn't lay a hand on the boy again.

Waving his wand at the bathtub that immediately started filling with water, he then opened the potions cupboard and took the relaxing potion Wohehiv had given him yesterday evening, a potion that contained a few very rare plants which grew in just a few places around the world, one of those places being north America where Wohehiv had his tribe. He'd heard of the native Americans knowing more about potions, plants and animals than most Potions Master all over the world, and having one now to work with, he was rather happy about it, knowing that there would be a lot until the end of this school year he could learn from the man.

That after all it was, the reason as to why he had become a Potions Master.

Not to play nurse-maid for snotty children who didn't like learning and who didn't understand the subtle science that was potions making, who just tolerated him because they had to, nor to play the friend and follower to the headmaster of the school, an old fool who meddled about with the people around him, using them to his leisure and the way he wished. No - he had become a Potions Master because it had been his wish to experiment with potions, to invent new potions, to find new solutions, new plants and animal parts he could use in potions so that he could ease the suffering of the wizarding world after the two - soon three - wars that had reigned wizarding Britain during the past hundred years.

Albus Dumbledore would have to find someone else than Potter for playing his saviour of the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore would have to find someone else to fulfil the role he had held so far. Maybe then the man would finally understand that the help he was getting from the order over and over again, wasn't so granted as he was taking it since years.

Sighing he leaned back in the bath, again marvelling at the feeling of his muscles relaxing in a way they had never before - yes, he could get used to this. He'd have the boy taking his bath in the evening before bed, knowing that it would help his sleep, more often in future.

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"Let's get you outside for a bit." Snape said and he looked up at the man that stood in front of him, his hand extended to help him out of bed, as if he were unable to leave his bed alone. Were they supposed to leave the medical wing even? He knew that Madam Pomfrey would have had their hides if they'd leave - if _anyone_ left - her hospital wing. What would Wohehiv say if they left? Where would they go anyway? Surely Snape wouldn't get him home, because he didn't want to go home right now.

It was a strange thing, but Harry found himself liking more and more the time he was spending with the older man, and he was beginning to trust him even more than Dumbledore. Alright, that wasn't so hard, he had to admit that, after all, Snape had never done anything to gain his mistrust, Dumbledore had. Sure - Snape had hated him and sure - he had made his life miserable for a long, long time, but - that had been in the past. But now, it was the now, and now was - Snape cared for him now. And somehow, here, while they were not in their house, here Snape was his, and his alone, and none of the other boys could take him away here.

Allowing Snape to pull him off the bed until he stood, he slipped into the trainers the man had summoned and then placed beside his bed.

Of course he knew how irrational it was, his fear, that one of the other boys could take Snape from him. They had their own families who loved them, they all were someone's son and they all - they didn't need their teacher caring for him like he needed Snape caring for him. Frowning he paused for a moment, looking up at the man who lifted his eyebrow at him in his typical Snape-mannerism.

Weeks ago he would have been really startled upon his own thoughts, and he would have been shocked too, most likely he would have doubted his own mind, his own sanity, but now? Why should it be so bad, having Snape caring for him? Because Snape was here, and Snape was doing it, caring for him, so, nothing else mattered, did it? If Snape was ready to - he didn't even know why he was thinking about it. It was stupid thinking about it, because that was what was just happening and he should just accept it as it was. And yet, he just couldn't forget it.

Blinking he followed Snape out of the medical wing, but not through the front door however. They were leaving through a side door he hadn't noticed earlier, and were now entering the darkening back yard of the infirmary, a beautiful yard with a lot of plants which were growing along the masonry of the house. Snape didn't however lead him to one of the benches that stood along the masonry, but further down the middle way that led into the yard until they came to a circle made of stones.

Snape waved his wand and then sat down into the grass, leaning back against one of the large trees, gesturing at him to do the same and he followed Snape's example, sitting down into the grass he noticed was dry and warm, and softer than he had imagined, Snape surely having cast a drying and a warming charm at the grass, and a cushioning charm too, just that he wasn't leaning against one of the trees but the Potions Master was pulling him close until he was leaning with his back against the man's chest. For a moment he was really startled, because - well, that was surely one of the most un-snapeish moves the man had done so far since they were here in Canada, and he wasn't really sure if the teacher was alright with the situation or if he did it just because he was his ward and he thought he had to but didn't really want to care for him and have him so close. But then he relaxed when he noticed that Snape was relaxed too, that there wasn't any kind of displeasure in the man's features.

Maybe the Canadian air wasn't so good for Snape? Or maybe it was something like germs and viruses in the air that had made Snape ill? Or maybe it was the Dark Lord that had him tortured into insanity? But no, surely not this, because the man had started caring about him even before he'd been called a few days ago. So, it had to be something different. Maybe it was something in the water. That could be, couldn't it? Some germs in the water they were drinking, because that would explain why he, Harry, was so eager to be in the man's presence too.

"What are you thinking, Harry?" The man's velvet and dark voice asked. "I can practically hear your brain rattling and soon there will be steam coming out of your ears."

"I've just been thinking how strange this all is." He softly said after taking a deep breath. "A few weeks ago you wouldn't have cared about anything that had to do with me and now - you do, and I don't even mind. And I just wondered if there might be something on the air or in the water that has made us ill. Sorry. sir."

It was really frustrating, honestly, confusing, because he longed for time to talk with the man, to sit with him and to just being in his presence, but when he was, then he was scared of him and he didn't even know why, because somehow he knew that Snape wouldn't harm him. So, why was he scared of him?

"There is no need for apologies, Harry." Severus answered, softly chuckling at the joke the boy had made. He'd gotten more from the boy in one day than anyone had gotten in over a year or longer even, and he wasn't about to jeopardize the fledgling relationship now. "Your reasoning is perfectly fine, child. Why don't you do an inflamare on those logs in the circle?"

"An inflamare?" The boy asked, looking up at him, startled, before looking closer at the stony circle, only now noticing that there were indeed several logs laying in there, logs of different size and form. "We've not learned that one now."

"Miss Granger has been able doing it in your first year, if I am not mistaken." He smirked. "It has been my favorite trousers she had ruined that afternoon. Just - concentrate on the logs, imagine them becoming warmer. Imagine the several fibres of wood, dry and ready to be set aflame. Very good. And now, as you have no wand, you will need to do a bit of elemental magic. For that imagine the air around the logs becoming warmer, and dryer, imagine the earth getting still and all water leaving the wood. Just like this, exactly, and now hold your hand in front of your face. Palm up. Now you just imagine a small flame appearing on your palm, not touching the skin but dancing in the air, hovering over your palm. Can you see its shades of blue and red and yellow? Very good. Try to listen to the flame, to its crackling and to its sizzling, watch how it moves, how the colors dance and wave. And now you move it over to the logs. If they are dry and warm enough, then they - will become aflame within a moment." He added the moment Harry had already done just this and he pulled the boy back against his chest, proud of the child, proud of him for doing elemental magic - and without a wand even, knowing that there were few who could do this, who could control the elements.

For a moment his eyes met the ones of one particular Cheyenne, dark eyes watching him disapprovingly at having the child doing elemental magic while he was not to one hundred percent healthy, but then there was a small nod from the Cheyenne before Wohehiv went back inside and he relaxed. He'd been there to watch over it, and it had been good for the boy, doing this.

Even now he was watching the child playing with the tiny, little flame he'd dancing on his fingers, between his fingers, playing like a child would be playing and he allowed it.

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The crackling and spitting of the dying fire filled the area with peace while the night sky was illuminated with thousands of stars twinkling in the firmament and the evil of Voldemort and his Death Eaters seemed a lifetime away while he watched the two peaceful figures sitting together in the grass. The end of September drew near and soon Winter would be upon them. Just a few weeks and the area would be snowed in, everything would be white and cold, icy, the lake frozen and the wilderness would be untouched except of the wild animals having built their burrows and their lairs, their dens in the snow.

A few weeks only, and they wouldn't be able sitting together outside like this and so he looked at the two strange wizards leaning together on a tree, Hahkethomemah having his head pillowed on Mokatavatah's shoulder and the man having his arm protectively encircling the child's skinny shoulders, both of them being content with what they had, and he took a deep breath. He hated to break the solitude and peace of the sight, of the night, but they had to know what his tests had shown. He needed to talk with the Potions Master.

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* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

705 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

697 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

576 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

339 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: still a free post


	22. the core and the shield

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously in Little robe **

_The crackling and spitting of the dying fire filled the area with peace while the night sky was illuminated with thousands of stars twinkling in the firmament and the evil of Voldemort and his Death Eaters seemed a lifetime away while he watched the two peaceful figures sitting together in the grass. The end of September drew near and soon Winter would be upon them. Just a few weeks and the area would be snowed in, everything would be white and cold, icy, the lake frozen and the wilderness would be untouched except of the wild animals having built their burrows and their lairs, their dens in the snow. _

_A few weeks only, and they wouldn't be able sitting together outside like this and so he looked at the two strange wizards leaning together on a tree, Hahkethomemah having his head pillowed on Mokatavatah's shoulder and the man having his arm protectively encircling the child's skinny shoulders, both of them being content with what they had, and he took a deep breath. He hated to break the solitude and peace of the sight, of the night, but they had to know what his tests had shown. He needed to talk with the Potions Master. _

**Little robe **

**Chapter twenty-two**

**The core and the shield**

"What do you mean, Harry is my son?" He asked, blinking at the bloody Cheyenne idiotically, he, Severus Bloody Snape, blinking idiotically at someone!

"What do you think I mean!" The bloody medicine man shook his head at him, clearly not understanding his problem. "I have taken some of your blood for doing the same tests I have done with Harry's, namely testing your core being affected by the nerve damage done by the amount of the cruciatus that was clearly more than acceptable and definitely dangerous, and doing this with a blood test is the safest way, you should know that."

"I _do_ know that." He growled at the man. "But that doesn't explain how my blood ended up in Potter's body."

"Your blood didn't end up in Hahkethomemah's body!" Wohehiv sighed, clearly sounding annoyed. "You're a healer, Severus, you know very well that -"

"Of _course_ I know!" He hissed at the man. "It was - metaphorically spoken. Your testing out cores does not explain how you ended up doing a paternal testing nor how the boy could end up with the same blood structures as me."

"I haven't done a paternal testing with your blood - it's your core that gave me the information - yours and Harry's." Wohehiv said and he narrowed his eyes at the healer. There were barely healers left who could visualize the different strands that were interwoven into the magical core of someone. "When I did the testing with your core, then I noticed that your core had very few strands compared to a normal person's core. There is one, a very strong one, that is - like red smoke, but still, like I said, very strong, it belongs to a dead person which you have loved very deeply, which you still love and most likely will always love, someone you've bonded with for life. Then there is one that is a mixture of yellow and red, but it is a strand that is vanishing, it is nearly gone now. It is not like smoke or shadows but simply pale and paling more and more with the days what indicates that it is not a dead person but a living person that had been close to you once but whose bond you are breaking. I think that it is the bond of your former headmaster and mentor who has betrayed your trust and whose bond you are repelling now. And then there is a deep grey strand, nearly black, but it is weaving and curling, sneaking through your core, winding in clear agony of being fought, even though it is already dead-like, clearly being rejected from the beginning of the bond what indicates that it is a bond that was done unwillingly - the bond with the Dark Lord. You have been forced into this bond." The bloody healer added, looking at him strangely.

Huffing at the bloody man he scowled. There was nothing he hadn't already known - though, it was interesting to hear that the strand that represented Dumbledore in his core, or the bond with him, was vanishing. He hadn't thought that it would happen so soon.

"There is a deep blue strand that becomes stronger and stronger - blue stands for healing, but also for friendship, I don't think I have to tell you who is at the receiving end of this strand, and I am happy for the bond you are willing to start." The damn bloody Cheyenne said and he nearly growled at the man angrily. He wasn't forming a bond with him! He was glad for any bond he was shedding, he didn't need new ones! "Another strand that is very short for now but steadily growing, is a purple strand - and I know that the main strand of Acheron Sieves' core is purple - I think that you are starting a new bond with our headmaster, that you accept Acheron as something akin to your new mentor instead of Dumbledore. It is a beautiful purple, like a stormy clouded sky and it is promising a stormy bond, full of life and energy. And finally, there is a green strand. I didn't first think much of it - until I realized that the green was an incredible emerald green - the green of Hahkethomemah's eyes."

"So what?" He asked, rather unhappy with having his magical core under so close inspection by Wohehiv. "Everyone knows that Harry is my ward and that we _indeed do_ have a bond."

"A bond, yes, but a bond as deep as this?" Wohehiv asked and he narrowed his eyes at the Indian. "This green strand of your core is a long and strong cord that is growing close with your core itself, not wavering through or around it, no - it is fixed permanently, grown together from the beginning on and nothing, not even death can separate this cord, Severus, like with the strand that is red smoke meanwhile, that belongs to your love, just that in this case, it's the cord of a father."

"That is ridiculous." He waved it off. "This strand could belong to anyone. Not to mention that it could mean anything."

"No, it couldn't." Wohehiv softly said and somehow he knew that the Cheyenne was right, somehow he could _feel_ it. "Because I have done the same test on Hahkethomemah's core - still, not really thinking about it. But then I've seen the boy's core - and never before have I seen something more beautiful. It is green - emerald green, cloudy and rippled, in a constant move like a mixture between - a stormy sky and a wild ocean. Merlin, the one to handle this child the moment he has overcome the abuse - I do pity you." The bloody healer then chuckled. "However, that boy doesn't have any more strands than have you. There is the same ghostlike red strand that is deeply attached to his core as is to yours and I only can imagine that it is his mother whom you too have loved. There are a few fading strands, one that is pure red, but disconnected on a few points, as if the bond had been broken several times, it is fading faster with the days passing. There is one that is brown, it is still very strong, but this one too is beginning to fade, as if Hahkethomemah were undecided about the bond. And then there is a green strand that is in the background, barely visible, but it is strong and steady - like a friendship with someone who's in the background only, but always there. There is a blue strand forming - and as I know that it isn't with me, I guess it's one of the other students in his house he's starting a friendship with, something I'm very happy about. He's been planning on keeping himself alone, but I guess that his house isn't making it too easy for him. And last but not least - there is one strand that is velvet black - the same soft but deep velvet black as is your core, Mokatavatah. Tell me again that it could mean nothing."

He couldn't.

It was as simply as this, he couldn't, because - in his core - he could feel that Wohehiv was right, that the boy's core and his were the same, they belonged together. He knew it, even though he had no explanation to it as he definitely couldn't remember having - had sex with Lily. But just because he couldn't remember it, it didn't mean anything, he suddenly realized. He was a wizard, and so he knew very well how one could meddle with someone's mind - and speaking of meddling - he even could imagine who might have meddled with _his_ mind - the question was: why?

Why would Albus Dumbledore meddle with his mind in this area?

_'Because you have been easier to form while having no family - and because Harry has been easier to form while having no family.' _A small voice in the back of his mind whispered, followed by words he had heard not so long ago - _"Both of you will be needed before this war is over, for the better or the worse. Both of you are needed the way you are, both of you had to learn that life isn't a playschool but dangerous and difficult, and both of you had to stand on opposite sides in this war so you can work together in the end."_

Yes - he knew why Albus Dumbledore would meddle with this. He'd practically told him already.

"What will you do now, Mokatavatah?" The bloody Cheyenne asked and he looked up at the man.

"What do you think, there is to do?" He asked back, scowling at the name the Cheyenne was about to give him. "I'll inform the boy, then I'll inform Britain wizarding child welfare and after that I'll fill charges against Dumbledore and the Dursleys."

"Are you ready to -"

"This changes nothing, Wohehiv." He growled at the Indian, waving him off. "I already _have_ planned on adopting the boy anyway to keep him from the Dursleys. I have already seen him as a son since some days now and it is getting stronger with the days that pass. So this changes nothing. Maybe I have just felt the bond that already exists, settling the way it was meant to from the beginning. This news only makes some things easier."

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"Sir?" Harry asked when he came back into the large room of the medical wing.

He'd been outside with Snape, and it had been so great, sitting there in the grass, in the darkness, with only the stars above them and the fire burning in front of them, the night being silent except of the crackling of the flames. It had been - he'd never had something like that, he'd never had someone who'd done with him something like that. Not even Sirius had done with him something like that. Yes, they'd been sitting in front of the fire once, at the burrow, shortly after the Quidditch World cup, before they'd gone back to Hogwarts and Sirius had been visiting - but that had been different. It had not been the same freedom and it had not been the same peace.

"How do you feel, Harry?" The man softly asked instead of giving him an answer to his unspoken question.

"I feel - relaxed, sir." He said, frowning. Of course he felt relaxed, he'd taken a relaxing bath after all.

Wohehiv had come outside after a while, had been sitting with them for some time, until the logs were burnt down completely and only red coal and ash had been left, before he had ushered them inside and him, Harry, into the bathroom to take his relaxing bath before going to bed, promising that he'd release him tomorrow, if he rested today and tonight, and if he promised to take it easy for the next few days.

"That's good." Snape said, waving him over and he climbed into his bed that still stood close beside his teacher's bed.

"Sir?" He asked, again.

"Yes, child?" The man asked back and again, like always when Snape called him _'child'_, he felt warm all over, because Snape didn't expect grown up things of him, because Snape didn't expect - Snape allowed him to be a child. No one before had done that.

"I just - wanted to say thanks." He then said, not knowing how to explain what he felt. "It is - no one has ever done things for me, and you're doing things for me all the time. I mean, you didn't have to, but you're doing it anyway. You - you're making me happy and you're allowing me to just being a child and … I don't know how to explain it, sir. It's just that - thank you."

_'It's just that - if I cold chose a father, then I'd chose you.'_

He didn't say this aloud however, knowing that he'd overstep the line ways with this, knowing that most likely he was already overstepping the boundaries with just _thinking_ such a thing, that the professor surely would be horrified if he knew his thoughts, that the man wanted his own freedom and his own space and liberty, his peace, his independence - not being bothered by on idiot child like him, not having to think of a child at his side.

No, it was enough to have the man as his teacher and as his head of house while they were here, he should be happy with that and he should safe the feeling until he had to go back to the Dursleys, because then he'd clearly need any good memory he could get.

"There is no need to choose _anything_, Harry." Snape said and he looked over at the man, not sure if - had he been reading his thoughts? "How it is that you can be so very Slytherin at times, while at others you are a bloody Gryffindor? You have been open like a book and your thoughts have been written over your forehead in red letters. And no, there is no need to choose anything, because actually, I am already your father - and not only in form of the head of your house - I am actually your biological father, even though I've only learned about it a few moments ago myself."

Alright - and now it would come, the rant, about him, the greasy git being the father of the boy who lived, the brat complaining and crying over having him, of all people, as his father. He'd read the boy's wish, of course, but between a wish and reality, there was a very large difference, he knew that and so there was no hope for this going over well. In other words - an explosion would follow soon.

Three - two - one -

But nothing happened.

Neither a bout of accidental magic that exploded the medical wing, nor any words of complaint, no screaming, no sobbing, not even a gasping - nothing - and looking over at the brat - there was just a small smile on the pale face while the boy lay down and closed his eyes, murmuring a soft - "ok".

"What do you mean with - ok?" He asked, frowning at the little imp that didn't even bother complaining upon being told that he was Snape's son. "And do use the cover, boy, it's cold enough." He added, growling, reaching over and pulling the boy's blanket over the small and thin form, causing the smile on the brat's face to widen even.

Bloody imp! How dare he smiling at him like this upon an information given that was changing his entire life! That was condemning the brat to him, Snape! How dare he smiling upon such a thing instead of throwing a tantrum!

Well, that was surely the bloody fault of the relaxing bath, the boy being too relaxed to even realise his words, and the rant would come tomorrow!

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That at least was the thought he went to sleep with after the bloody teen had fallen asleep.

It wouldn't however come to this, because it was in the middle of the night already when he woke next, and the first thing he heard was soft voices - and he knew, there it came, the rant he'd waited for earlier. He didn't even have to wait until the morning - nooooooo, it came in the middle of the night, robbing him off his well deserved sleep.

"I don't care, you know." He heard the boy whispering and inwardly he sighed. He had known that the rant would come, sooner or later. "I don't care! That's all I ever wanted, a family on my own, and now I have, even if it's just a small family."

Wait!

That wasn't right!

That bloody brat wasn't supposed to -

He could understand that Potter had always wanted a family, who wouldn't want a family? Family was one of the most important things after all, promising people who stood beside and behind you, people who helped and supported you, and even though he knew that most children wouldn't be so grateful for having a family, knowing that most children would take having a family for granted - he actually did realize that this particular child, that didn't have a family at all, would see it very differently, would wish for a family.

But him?

"I didn't say that you shouldn't be happy, child." He heard Wohehiv softly answering. "I just want you to see this realistic. With Mokatavatah as your father, you will have to accept him as the adult in this and that's nothing you're used to, Hahkethomemah. You are used to caring for yourself, you have done that since your earliest childhood and I do not speak of a handful of sweets, or a clean shirt. I am speaking of very important things like surviving in a most cruel environment where you didn't even get enough food to begin with - not to mention other things any child needs. Giving away control over your life to someone else in your case will be very hard, child, and you should realize that your father and you will get into one or another argument because you feel that you need to protect yourself while your father feels the need to do the same for you - just that both your ways of protection and care will be very different as your father will see it in a realistic way while you will see it in a more needy way."

"I can do this!" The boy softly said, his voice sounding scared. "I'll make this working, I promise, I can do this!"

"Do not promise things you cannot keep, boy." He said. "There is no need for you to make this working. Like this bloody healer already has said - you are the child in this and it is _not your _place to make anything working. You will do foolish things like any child and you will disobey and act like a bloody Gryffindor more often than not - but that does not mean that I will abandon you."

"You cannot promise that." The bloody boy said, softly, the child sounding so damn scared.

"I can." He growled. "As much as any other father can promise such a thing."

"And … and what if something happens to you?" The boy asked and he sighed.

"Seeing that I am at a good health, and seeing that I am not of old age, I do not see any reason as to why there should something be happening to my person." He said.

"What about uncle Voldie?" The bloody boy asked. "You'll be at the top of his killing list now, even before me and Dumbledore."

"I haven't been far behind you in the past either, Harry." He said. "My situation has not worsened as much as you might think as the Dark Lord has never hesitated killing his Death Eaters upon being displeased by them. And now stop worrying and go back to sleep, it is in the middle of the night."

There was a small sigh coming from the boy, but no words of contradiction.

But then -

"Sir?"

"What is it?" He asked back, sighing - he should have known that the boy would be too emotional for going back to sleep.

"I - I just wondered … I know that - well, I'll have to call you _'professor'_ during classes, of course, but … in privacy, I meant … what would I - sorry, sir. It isn't important and it sure was …"

"It _is_ important, brat." He sighed. "This new situation will require a few adjustments, and I need you to address your needs instead of ignoring them. And one definitely is your way of addressing me. What do your friends call their parents? Especially their fathers?"

"I - I don't know." The boy said, looking aside. "I know only Ron, and he calls his father _'dad'_. But I don't think you'd like it if I …"

"If this is the way you would like addressing me while being outside of classes, then I will be alright with it." He said, trying to sound as less uncomfortable with the situation as possible. "Even though you are correct in the assumption that during classes I expect you to address me with a 'sir'. I don't think that 'professor' or 'master' will be necessary though."

"'k." The boy said, his voice strangely rough - he had been right, the boy was too emotional right now.

It was however the doors to the medical wing that saved him from having to give an answer to the boy's one-letter statement, both doors being thrown open forcefully and Manuel storming in, startling them all - except for Wohehiv who apparently _did _have some experiences when it came to nightly disruptions, the healer already getting off his chair and storming over to the potions cabinet, throwing it open with just a wave of his hand and summoning several potions even before Manuel had said something.

"The people from Canoe Point!" The man called at Wohehiv. "About fifty of them, they're attacking Dubawnt Lake Hamleton. Traianos is getting the people from Tulemalu Lake and Dmitri is leading the teachers and the apprentices to defend the town."

"Get a shield up, Harry." He called, already getting off the bed and waving his hand to change his pyjamas into his usual black robes, ignoring the disapproving looks Wohehiv was throwing at him. He checked the boy's shield, frowning at the bloody thing the boy had called up even without a wand, but he didn't take the time to comment on it right now, and already he was storming outside the wing, following Manuel. He was satisfied with the boy's shield and that was enough for now.

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Harry was more than just scared.

Professor Manuel - _Master_ Manuel - had stormed into the room, had startled the hell out of him, and had told something about an attack on the town, and Wohehiv had started gathering potions which he had thrown at both, Master Manuel and Snape - Severus - his father - whatever - who had changed and had then stormed out of the medical wing, most likely to partake in a battle he knew nothing about, ordering him to cast a shield and to keep it up.

And now Wohehiv was preparing the medical wing - for whatever.

There were already several beds standing in the large room, like in the infirmary at Hogwarts, but now Wohehiv was making them larger and he was conjuring bedside tables, and then he was placing potions on those bedside tables, potions he recognized as healing potions, as pain relievers, as sleeping potions - the healer was preparing for a lot of injured persons - not a thought he liked, but he knew that he couldn't do anything about it, because he didn't even know what that fight was about and how it was fought and if Snape would be alright and if Snape would come back and …

"Stop worrying, Hahkethomemah." Wohehiv said after he had prepared the medical wing for the injured persons that were most likely to arrive soon. "It's just an attack from a few people in the neighboring town, it happens twice a year, sometimes three or four times and we know how to defend the town's people."

"Why?" The boy asked, his voice making clear that he wasn't very happy with his answer anyway.

"Because they can't defend themselves against the half-wizards." He answered. "Most of the town's people of Dubawnt Lake Hamleton are muggles, only a few of them being half-wizards, and they would be at the mercy of the hands from the Canoe People."

"No, I meant, why are they attacking the town to begin with?" The boy asked and he sighed, halting in his work. He regarded the boy's shield for a moment, impressed with the art of wandless magic the child was displaying, but then he sat down beside the boy's bed. The shield wasn't visible at all, only the child's aura having changed and it was more that he was feeling the shield than seeing anything at all.

"The people from Dubawnt Lake Hamleton are gatherers, only then hunting deer if they need meat to survive and most of them being Inuit, while the people from Canoe Point are hunters only, hunting for meat, hunting for skin and coat, and most of them are white men - and like always, it is the difference between the color of skin, between the facial features and between believes that cause battles and death." He explained. "Of course this school could stay out of this - but not only are we living in Dubawnt Lake Hamleton, but also do we know that the few half-wizards wouldn't stand a chance to defend themselves against an _entire army_ of the half-wizards and wizards. We're just giving a helping hand, that's all, making sure that the raids of the people from Canoe Point won't end up in an entire town being diminished. We have always been well seen and welcomed guests here in this town after all and it is our duty to help."

"I didn't know that there are half-wizards." The boy said and he lowered his head to one side.

"Well, if there are wizards, and if there are muggles, then there have to be half-wizards too." He said, not really understanding the boy. Everywhere were half-wizards, even in England. "Half-wizards are everywhere Hahkethomemah. Some of them are able to do a bit of magic, some of them are unable of performing any magic at all, and some of them are able to do nearly as much magic as a wizard can. It depends on how much magic is flowing in the family generally. A half-wizard that comes from an old and powerful wizarding family surely can do more magic than a half-wizard that comes from a small and weak family."

"I didn't know that." The boy said, clearly thinking. "I only know wizards, muggles and squibs. Though, you don't seem to have witches."

"That was nice, child." He laughed at that. "We do have witches too of course, they're in a different school at the other side of the lake though. However, squibs as you call them, are what we call half-wizards."

"Whoa - then maybe Filch could really learn how to do magic." The boy said, looking at him large eyed, clearly suddenly understanding. "Now I know why in this town wizards and muggles are living together. You wouldn't have something like that in England, there muggles do not even know about us."

"Most of the muggles here in this continent don't know either." He said, understanding how the boy must have felt, being in a strange town and not knowing anything about it, not understanding how things worked or how it was that muggles and wizards were living together. "There are only a few settlements in South America and North America, in Canada and in Alaska, who have decided to live together, to share land and what the land brings forth, and the muggles in those settlements were taking a serious vow to not speak about wizardom to anyone else except of amongst themselves. It is a symbiosis muggles as well as wizards are going into, that befits both parties. The muggles are having the protection from the wizards without asking them for solving their all-day problems, while the wizards are learning how to do things the muggle way too, not only depending on their magic alone. This way they learn to do things - more consciously, more deliberately."

"What a battle, Snape!" Dmitri's voice boomed through the doors of the wing and a moment later they were thrown open a second time tonight, this time both doors hitting the wall and in marched Dmitri and Severus, both of them steadying young men while Ragnar was carrying another one over his shoulder, his sword held in one hand still. "You should have seen your teacher, boy! He's been keeping half of the attackers at bay and each time they approached to attack him, he's placed a well-aimed spell that knocked them out with just a lazy flick of his hand."

"Sure, until I've thrown a bow and a quiver with the arrows at him - he's used the bow to hit at them!" Manuel laughed, carrying another of the town's people in.

"He's broken the bloody thing over the head of a Canoe and then used the arrows as spears." Acheron laughed, carrying in one of the people from Tulemalu Lake.

"Not as spears, you bloody color weaver!" Severus said, addressing the headmaster and he gasped for a moment at the Potions Master's speech before he started chuckling. "I'm English! I don't play with spears, I play darts!"

"Never mind that, we've thrown them back quicker and more effectively than ever before!" Dmitri laughed and he nearly gasped a second time. He was the healer at this school for years now, and never before had he seen - or heard - Dmitri laughing. It was a throaty laugh, a hard laugh, one that befitted the harsh and always so angry man very well, but it was a definite laugh.

"Color weaver!" Acheron laughed too and he knew, they were in a rush of adrenalin - nice, to have a bunch of bloody warriors that came directly from a battle at his hands. "I've blinded them more than once or you would've been hit with a few nice spells from them too. But Dmitri is right, Harry, your teacher has fought very well."

"Father!" The boy then said, smiling brightly, nearly causing Dmitri to let his townsman fall to the floor with shock. "He's my dad!"

"Is he now?" Acheron asked, smiling at the boy while depositing the man from Tulemalu Lake at one of the beds and he was glad to have enlarged a few of them as they were larger people than the townsmen from Dubawnt Lake Hamleton. "Hmm, a fine father you have there, child."

Well, he wasn't sure who would explode sooner, Mokatavatah or Hahkethomemah, the boy at least was swelling with pride over his new father apparently having gained the other teachers' approval while even the Potions Master was having a goofy smile on his normally so stern and severe face that barely moved into anything than a smirk at the best but was normally an indifferent but dark mask.

Well, he knew that tonight no one would go to bed - and tomorrow luckily was Sunday, because they would be overtired tomorrow, unable to hold classes. It was always the same after all, no exceptions here, and apparently the Potions Master had been infected by the general high that was flooding the room. In other words, there was no way to get Hahkethomemah back to sleep either - nor the injured townspeople or those from Tulemalu Lake.

"Harry?" Severus asked, approaching the boy and sitting down at the edge of the bed. "Would you please lower your shield now?"

"Oh, sorry." The boy made, causing him to huff at the child that was his son, and a moment later the shield was gone. Not that he saw it, no, but he could feel it - the magic surrounding the boy like a shield was gone.

"Can you tell me what you did to produce the shield?" He asked, his eyes still trained on the child, because he knew, Harry had not used a wand to cast the shield charm, nor had he been saying a spell. He hadn't even waved his hand - and nor had he waved his hand to discard the shield now.

"Uhm - dunno, I have just … cast it?" The child unsurely asked, clearly not understanding what he wanted of him.

"That you have." He said, trying to ease the boy's growing fear of having done something wrong. "But it is a very impressive shield you have cast and I am very interested in what exactly you have done - seeing that you have done it without a wand and without an incantation. Can you tell me what you have been trying to do? What you have felt or what you have been thinking while casting it?"

"I - I have tried to fold the air around me, like … as if I'd wrap a cloak around me when it's cold." The boy said and he ignored the gasps around them.

"Do it!" Dmitri growled, coming closer and looking down at the boy and Harry looked over at him, Snape, for affirmation to his defence teacher's command, seeing that they were not in class and seeing that Dmitri had once messed around with the boy whereupon he had stepped in and declared that - _if_ there were a lesson to be taught, then it would be _him_ teaching it - and he inclined his head.

Acheron waved his wand and a moment later the air around the boy was visible, shining in a soft emerald green and he knew - it was Harry's core that was surrounding the boy, Harry's entire magical aura being emerald green if being made visible. A color weaver, indeed.

And then they could see as parts of the air folded themselves around the child, like the edges of a cloak that were drawn around a person - folds of it laying on the bed even to give safety and protection there and another fold coming up to cover the child's head as if a hood was pulled up, over the face even, until Harry was wrapped into the emerald green air-like cloak completely.

"Impressive, child." Acheron said, smiling. "You have used the element of air for your protection."

"I know no charm that would do this, not even with elemental magic." Dmitri growled. "What charm have you used, Potter?"

"Snape." The boy answered, nearly defiantly, but a moment later he was looking over at him, large eyed and clearly scared, fearing that he had overstepped a line and he inclined his head towards the boy.

"A Snape, indeed." He said, smirking at Dmitri who nodded back.

"Alright, Snape - what charm have you used?"

"Uhm - I … I didn't use any charm at all." The boy then answered and somehow he had known that this answer would come, somehow he had felt it.

"What do you mean with that?" Dmitri asked and he nearly rolled his eyes at the man. But well, he was Severus Snape, and Severus Snape didn't roll his eyes like a bloody teenager. "A shield is always done by a charm, just as a hex as well as a curse or jinx must be cast at others or objects."

"I … well, I - I've just imagined the air around me protecting me and - I haven't used a charm. I've just pictured the air protecting me."

"In other words, you are a natural elemental." Acheron said. "Has any teacher ever tested you in this area?"

"Professor Snape has started with that." The boy said, looking over at him questioningly and again he inclined his head. "He's had me conjuring a flame earlier, and start a fire in the back yard."

"But never before at Hogwarts?" Acheron asked and he frowned.

"Barely a student that enters Hogwarts nowadays has elemental abilities and so it isn't common to test them." He said.

"That might be true, Severus, but I am sure that the castle does feel an elemental." Acheron mused, leaning back into an armchair he had conjured. "Hogwarts has been built by four of the greatest wizards and witches that ever existed and of course they had poured their magic into the castle. To my knowledge, Hogwarts is able to feel the students, the teachers and the headmaster and to my knowledge Hogwarts is communicating with the headmaster - telling him of a student with one or another ability, elemental or not. And, a castle like Hogwarts, being as old as it is, I am sure has other means of communicating with the heads of houses if it is ignored by the current headmaster. So, I am sure that at least your headmaster should have known about Harry being an elemental, except - may I do a test, Harry? Severus?"

"What kind of test, Acheron?" He asked, alarmed, because if that was true - he remembered that back at the end of May 1993, at the end of Harry's second year, the castle had indeed communicated with them, with Minerva to be correct, the woman had told him about the castle warning her, that three students were in the chamber of secrets. Maybe, without that warning, Dumbledore would have kept the event hidden completely, not only parts of it as he hadn't ended up in the medical wing like he had after the chamber with the mirror in his first year. Back then he'd been in the infirmary and so Dumbledore had been forced to - at least partly - reveal what had happened. In his second year no one would have known if the castle hadn't warned Minerva.

"I would like to cast a diagnostic on Harry's magical strength and any magic being - bound." Acheron said, having several wizards in the room gasping in shock, included himself. "Because that is the only reasonable explanation as to why a castle like Hogwarts would not recognize an elemental."

"Do it." He growled, placing his hand at the boy's leg to ease the fear he clearly felt coming from the brat.

"This won't hurt you, Harry." Acheron said and then waved his wand in a complicated arch over the boy, his eyes narrowed, while at the same time he lifted his left hand, turning it this way and that way, and - again - weaving colors around the boy. Only a minute or two later the man stopped his movements and grabbed the piece of paper that had appeared midair in front of Acheron.

"Fifty percent." He softly said before looking up at him, at the boy, and then back at him. "This boy's magic has been bound to fifty percent."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

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**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

707 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

699 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

576 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

339 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: still a free post


	23. elemental magic being bound

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in Little robe **

_"I would like to cast a diagnostic on Harry's magical strength and any magic being - bound." Acheron said, having several wizards in the room gasping in shock, included himself. "Because that is the only reasonable explanation as to why a castle like Hogwarts would not recognize an elemental."_

_"Do it." He growled, placing his hand at the boy's leg to ease the fear he clearly felt coming from the brat. _

_"This won't hurt you, Harry." Acheron said and then waved his wand in a complicated arch over the boy, his eyes narrowed, while at the same time he lifted his left hand, turning it this way and that way, and - again - weaving colors around the boy. Only a minute or two later the man stopped his movements and grabbed the piece of paper that had appeared midair in front of Acheron. _

_"Fifty percent." He softly said before looking up at him, at the boy, and then back at him. "This boy's magic has been bound to fifty percent."_

**Little robe **

**Chapter twenty-three**

**Elemental magic being bound**

"But - that is a crime." Traianos softly said while the rest of the present wizards were silent, Severus having a tight grip on the boy's knee, not sure if he was trying to calm the child or himself, Wohehiv casting his own diagnostic, Dmitri looking as if he were ready to blast something apart, Manuel sitting down into a chair and the others - just shaking their heads or looking shocked.

"You are his father, Severus, if I got this correct." Acheron said. "May I ask how these news came to be known?"

"After Harry having had visions about the meeting I have been attending, and through the visions having been subjected to several curses, Wohehiv has done a test on his core, a very special test that would show him the several strands that are weaved through and around the core." He explained.

"I see." Acheron said. "Then there are no doubts, that you are indeed the boy's father."

"No, there isn't." He huffed, looking at the boy that - was in a mixture of fear and happiness, fear clearly about his bound magic and all the wizards' shocked responses as he was sure he himself didn't know what it meant, and happiness clearly about there being no doubts that he, Snape, was the boy's father. "That brat will have to deal with me for a few years more."

"I'm sure that - _the brat_ - won't be too unhappy about that." Wohehiv smiled down at the child.

"In this case, you are the only one - except of the caster who I guess would be Dumbledore - to undo the magic being bound." Acheron said and he frowned at the man.

"How?" He asked. He'd never had such a situation before.

"You'll have to go into his core." Wohehiv softly said. "And there you need to search for anything that could indicate Hahkethomemah's magic being bound, or locked away. That's why only you can do it, because only you, as his father, can enter his core. We can watch it from outside, we can make tests with it, but we cannot enter it. Only a father can do this, and only in good intentions."

"Then how has Dumbledore been able to bind Harry's magic in the first place?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the healer. There had to be a flaw in this.

"With bad magic." Wohehiv said. "With evil magic, with evil intentions, ruthlessly forcing the magic to abide his will."

"I see." He said. "How do I do this?"

"I will show you, Severus." Acheron said. "But not now. For this, both of you have to be at ease and both of you need more strength than you right now have. You both need being rested and tonight you didn't have any rest at all."

"I wonder what the boy could do if his magic were unbound." Dmitri said. "He's already doing wandless magic without using incantations, he's doing elemental magic with just a few movements of his hand as easily as others would use a spell like accio - a child with his magic bond! What will he be able doing the moment it's freed?"

"I don't know, Dmitri." Acheron said, smiling, "But I know that we will have a hard time teaching young Harry to control his magic. But don't worry, child, you will learn it - and in the meantime, we're here to help you with this."

"Will … will it even be possible?" The boy unsurely asked the headmaster.

"To unbind your magic?" The man asked back. "Or to learn to control it the moment it is free?"

"Both, sir." Harry said, softly.

"I think that yes, we can unbind it." The old headmaster said. "I don't know what exact kind of magic Master Dumbledore used to bind your magic, but I think that yes, we will be able to undo the binding. Learning to control it the moment it is set free will be difficult, and it surely will take some time, maybe years, but I think I know you meanwhile. You are an exceptional young man, Harry. You have survived in a lest ideal environment. You have done exceptional things since you have entered the magical world and now we have learned that you are the son of a just as exceptional man who has a great will of mind and very strong magic too - I think, you will manage to learn it."

"How will his being an elemental fit into the curriculum?" He asked, glaring at the bloody headmaster for so openly giving away his opinion about him, Severus.

"That will be a different story." The headmaster said. "We could take you out of the regular classes and have you being an apprentice what would allow us to teach you differently in the areas you need of course, but I don't think that wise. It only would end in jealousy on the other children's side. I think it is best you partake in the regular classes like anyone else, while learning to control your elemental magic simultaneously in one or another small lesson we can give you playfully. I think that would be the best way. You then could start studying elemental magic the moment you have done your NEWTs, like others would visit a magical university."

"But … but people expect me to become an auror!" The bloody brat said, looking at him with large eyes.

"Is that what you want to become too?" He calmly asked, his dark eyes fixing his son's green eyes, Lily's eyes, and he wondered why he had never seen Lily in them before.

"No." The brat said. "But that isn't important. They expect the bloody Boy Who Lived to become an auror to save them all! And they expect for Harry Bloody Potter to play Quidditch and to be the bloody seeker and …"

"You forget, you idiot child, that you are not Harry Bloody Potter anymore but Harry Bloody Snape, even though I would consider my middle name well if I were you." He growled. "I do not care what _people_ expect of you. _I_ expect you to do what _you_ want, not what others want. The only person you will have to answer to is me, not wizarding society. And if you don't want to play Quidditch, then you don't have to - and if you want to study elemental magic instead of becoming an auror, then you will do just this."

There was a pause, the boy looking up at him with large eyes for a few moments while he looked back seriously, but then there actually appeared another smile on the always so pale face, a real smile - one the few really happy smiles he'd seen on the bloody brat's face, and he inclined his head before getting off his chair and quickly leaving towards the bathroom, before that bloody brat could see how pleased he was about his damn smile.

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"They say that Master Severus has had a lot of fun during the fight." Brian whispered towards Sam, leaning close. "As if he'd been playing darts and the trappers were his dartboards. Weird, really."

How nice it was to know that - never mind the country and never mind the school, gossip was a normal occurence the moment humen came together and here - it was as bad as it was at Hogwarts.

"I think that was pretty cool." Andrew leaned over to the two. "Did you hear that Master Acheron had done that color thing again? They say he can make the air into a color so bright that you have to close your eyes or you'd get blind."

They had been released from the medical wing this morning, after they'd had - what, about three hours of sleep? It had been past midnight when Manuel had come into the hospital wing and it had been one or two when they had come back from the battle with the trappers - and it had been at least four or five in the morning when the medical wing was at least calm and silent enough for the boy and him to settle and to sleep, the boy falling asleep while leaning with his upper body against him.

He'd pulled the boy into his arms at one point or another - or rather shortly after they had learned about the bound magic - to ease the fear that clearly had radiated of the child, fear at not knowing what had happened with him or what would be happening with him, clearly not knowing if the damage done could be reversed.

"Who cares about colors!" Brian called out. "They say that Master Severus has thrown the arrows at the Canoeans, adding his magic to steady their flight. That's pretty cool!"

"I fear, you have lost some coolness here, colorweaver." He smirked when entering the hall for dinner this evening, leaning over to Acheron who was walking beside him.

"Only with the older students." The headmaster chuckled. "The younger ones are still impressed by colours being weaved. You will have a hard time keeping them off your back now, my dear Severus, they'll annoy the hell out of you until you tell them the story."

"Merlin!" He groaned, shocked. "You're not serious! My Hogwarts students would be shocked if they knew that here the bloody children are eager to hang on my throat just to hear stories from me! They'd all die of heart attacks!"

"Seriously, Severus, I don't understand it." Acheron said, stopping mid-step and stopping him too by placing his hand on his arm. "I cannot imagine that your teaching style has changed so drastically between England and Canada. You are a very - let me say, sarcastic - teacher still. You give a lot of homework, you give detention if needed and you're startling the students every now and then. Anyway, the students here like you, all of them. How is it that your Hogwarts students hated you so much?"

"I think that might be because of my reputation of being a Death Eater." He huffed at the headmaster. "It is hard keeping a reputation up while being a nice teacher. A Death Eater is not nice. I've tried to help the students in a hidden way, by giving them detentions that might help their individual needs, but I never could do anything openly."

"And anyway it is impossible for you to have changed too drastically in the short time since you are here, Severus." Acheron said and he sighed. "You are still playing the bad teacher and the dark teacher, the cold teacher - but anyway they all like you - what makes me wonder how it is that the Hogwarts students hated you so much."

"They're all listening to prejudice and bad stories being told, like I've done." Came a small voice from behind them and turning he noticed Potter - Harry - entering the hall together with Glen. "Sorry for that."

"Come here, brat." He growled, darkly, waving the boy over. "There is nothing you have to apologize for, Harry." He then said when the child had come over and stood in front of him, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You have done nothing wrong. For years, every argument in my classroom has been started by not you but me - and I am very sorry, Harry. I realize that simply apologizing is not enough, but I don't know what else to do except of trying to make it alright to the best of my abilities. I wish there were a way that I cold erase it all and start over from the beginning on, but unfortunately, there isn't. I'm really, very, very sorry that I threatened you with the same abuse that you had suffered from those horrid muggles for so long. No! Don't say a word, child. I might have not beaten you, and I might have not starved you of food, but I have hurt you with my words and I have added to your bad health with emotional stress I have bestowed upon you while at the same time I have done enough to keep your body from healing after your summer holidays by giving you extra work and detentions. Not to mention that I have starved you of not food, but of attention and care as I should have seen your needs, as I should have recognized your needs - and yet, I have done nothing to aid you."

How in Merlin's name he had ended up with the bloody brat leaning against him and with his arms around the thin form - he didn't know, but that was the position he found himself in, the bloody boy leaning against him and his arms being around the slim form, holding the child while one hand was rubbing the bony back - in the middle of the dining hall and in front of the entire school.

Strangely it didn't bother him here as much as it would have bothered him back at Hogwarts.

"And now let's get us seated and start dinner before we're the social topic of the day, they're already staring." He growled, turning the boy and leading him towards their table and towards a grinning Wohehiv.

"Good evening, you two." The Indian said the moment they sat down, Harry with a bright blush on his face and him having enough dignity to not color upon a few idiots staring. "It's grilled potatoes and steaks, I'm sure you'll love it Hahkethomemah."

"I'd like the trees more." Harry answered and he nearly choked on the sip of hot mead he'd taken. Trees! As if he didn't know what cauliflower and broccoli was. On the other hand - he'd lived with caretakers that had denied him food, and not only some kind of food or another because they thought it was unhealthy for their children, but food generally because they though the child wasn't worth any of their food to begin with.

"Trees?" Sam asked, looking at Harry with a frown that clearly said - I don't know what you're speaking of. "Who'd eat trees?"

"Cauliflower and broccoli." Harry softly answered. "White and green trees - would you please hand the bowl over?"

"Bah, you may have all of it if you want." Terry huffed while quickly handing over the bowl.

"I am glad that at least one child in my house likes vegetables, Harry, but you'll at least eat a small steak." He said, taking the plate with the steaks and taking one of the smaller pieces to place it on the boy's plate. "I know that you are uncomfortable with eating meat after you have been forbidden to eat it for all your life, but your body needs the meat as well as vegetables and fruits. I'd rather have you skipping salad that has barely any nutrient at all, than meat."

"Salad has vitamines." Andrew piped up, even though he hadn't taken any of the salad on the table yet.

"Those vitamines you find in salad you'll find in vegetables and fruits just as well, with the benefit that those at least have a lot more nutrient." He shook his head. "You'll eat the salad anyway, Mr. Bennett, because the house elves have made them and I don't approve of food that has to be thrown away." He added when Andrew's face lit up at his words.

"Were we in our house for meals like always during the weekends, then we wouldn't have salad at all." The boy complained, looking horrified at the bowl of green salad he had placed before the boy.

"It was decided that we eat here in the hall due to not only the attack last night, so that we wouldn't have to cook today, but also because of our guests." He explained, looking around the hall that was filled with not only the students and teachers, but with about twenty of the townspeople who'd been injured in the attack last night too as Wohehiv had not released them yet.

"I know." The boy argued. "And that's alright with me - I just don't see why that should have any influence on me eating salad or not."

"Because it is on the table and you will get into detention if you don't eat it, that's why." He said, finalizing the subject while silently hoping that one day Harry would voice his distaste for meat just as well. He didn't like arguments in the first place and he expected his students - and even more so his ward - to obey his orders without arguing, just because of the simple reason that he was their head of house and that they trusted them to know best.

But knowing the reason as to why Harry wouldn't argue with him, namely because he was too scared to, and because he would eat anything to begin with as long as he got any food at all - that was not what he expected of a child that was healthy on body and mind - and so, yes, he would welcome one or another argument with his ward - with his son - because that was what would be normal.

"Uarhg." Glen made beside him, staring at his bowl with the "green stuff".

"What is it now, Glen?" He said, sighing - and there it was, the second boy who complained about the food, even though he'd expected more from his apprentice.

"There's a dead bug in the salad." The boy said, his eyes trained on the bowl.

"How fortunate that it's dead." He answered, seriously, frowning at the boy as if he didn't understand the problem. "I'm sure you wouldn't like eating it while it's alive still."

"Huh?" The boy made, looking up at him with a startled expression on his face while the others on the table started chuckling. "I won't eat any bug at all, never mind if it's dead or alive."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Having one eye on the children that were playing another game of Wizarding Monopoly - this time including Harry who was playing the stovepipe hat - he was trying to get as much work done as possible before Monday - tomorrow. He'd been in Wohehiv's imprisonment for far too long, for four days - four days during which he'd been unable to do any work and now the tests and essays were waiting in a high pile.

_'The third world war from the mugels was 18somthing and they'd asked the wizzarts to help them and so the mugels forcd the wizzarts to reviel there existenze to the mugels. After that the mugels got scard of the wiches and wizzarts and started hunting them, also see, the hunting and burning of wiches.'_

Merlin! How could a student that was attending secondary school write an essay like this? He didn't even know where to start with correcting it - not to mention if it came to grading the subject this particular essay had been written about. He'd definitely have a word with Mr. Anson tomorrow, and with Traianos, the boy's head of house too. At least, he would like to know it, if one of his students handed in an essay like this, and so he guessed that the other teachers would like to know about such too. Merlin, really! And here he had thought that he'd have his peace of dunderheads for a year.

Sighing he dipped his quill into the red ink and then started on the essay he'd laying in front of him.

Harry got off the armchair he'd been sitting in after he'd ended his move, knowing that he had a few minutes until he had his next move, and went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk.

It was strange, really.

In the beginning, a few weeks earlier, he wouldn't have dared taking something, anything, to drink for himself, and surely not a glass of milk, but Snape - his father - a thought that still was rather strange to him, just by the way - insisted that he got from the kitchen whatever it was he needed, told him that he was allowed to, and that before drinking a glass of water, he'd rather had him drinking a glass of milk. He still felt as if doing something forbidden and he always was looking over his shoulder when he opened the fridge to take the jar of milk. Just this afternoon he'd dropped the jar even when Snape had entered the kitchen while he'd poured the milk.

But Snape hadn't said anything, he'd just waved his hand and had cleaned away the mess. A moment later there had been a new jar of milk and Snape had poured him a glass, even asking if he'd like the milk being hot. He'd been too scared and had just nodded his head and a moment later Snape had reached the glass with the hot milk over at him, while looking at him strangely. It had been Snape's always so unreadable mask, but he guessed that meanwhile he'd learned how to read the man's stoic face, and so he'd known that, even if he had looked at him indifferently, Snape had not been pleased with the situation. But he hadn't said anything. He'd just shooed him into the living room to the others.

Going back to the others and the game, he sighed.

He'd often listened to Dudley and his friends playing roller coaster hippo or highway crocodile, or the case rabbit, and he'd often imagined what it would be like, being able to play with them. He'd listened to their laugher or to their arguing, to their playing - whatever, and he'd always wanted to be with them. But of course, he was a freak, and as the freak, he wasn't allowed to play with normal people. But he would have liked to.

And now he could.

Of course, he'd often played cards and wizarding chess with Ron, and with Dean and Seamus, but that was different. Playing cards was something entirely different as was playing a board game, and after a few minutes the game was over and they'd done whatever they liked - or not liked, like doing homework or anything else. And wizarding chess, well, not only was it not a fun game, but also - he'd always lost the game anyway.

Here, the entire house was playing together. They were playing this very same game since hours now and still it was fun. They were laughing and they were arguing about the wizarding places and schools, and about who ended up where. He'd never played the Muggle Monopoly, and Dudley hadn't had the game, he'd been too young first, and then he'd gotten those games he could play on the television with anyway. But he knew that it was about streets you had to buy and then houses you had to build and if someone got on your streets, then you had to pay rent.

And the same was with the Wizarding Monopoly.

So far he had the four transportations, King's Cross, Union Station, Metro Madrid, and Sydney station, and the two schools, Hogwarts and Durmstrang. Glen was the owner of Diagon Alley and Colorado Avenue, the American counterpart to Diagon Alley in London, and those streets were the most expensive on the board.

"Harry." Severus voice got him out of his thoughts - and made him jumping nearly a foot into the air, nearly spilling some of the milk he was carrying back into the living room, and for a moment he thought his heart might explode - while again, there was one of Snape's strange looks the man was throwing at him lately, a long and searching, nearly disapproving look, or rather a disappointed look, or a - he didn't know what look, just that he didn't like it. A thoughtful look, a worried look. A moment later however the man was already back to writing on the essay he'd been working at.

"Yes, sir?" He asked, taking a step towards his teacher-father, or father-teacher, he didn't yet know exactly which way round.

"Who would you like being your godparents?" Snape asked not looking up from his work this time, and he frowned.

"Godparents?" He asked, rather feeling confused. Why would he need godparents?

"Encase I should die before you are of age." Snape now looked up at him, frowning too, as if he had given a stupid answer to a question that was the most normal and easy question one could ask at all.

"Are you joking?" He couldn't help asking in his first shock, only then realizing what he had said and he felt a wave of dread washing over him, hoping that Snape would either not be feeling offended or simply ignore it.

"Hardly." The man answered, calmly, and he took a breath of relief, even though Snape was placing the quill aside, causing him to take a step back, just in case, because someone who was placing things aside was never a good sign because they were getting their hands free to do things with them.

He didn't really understand Snape's question anyway, because somehow, the man's question was a bit insensitive - but then, when was Snape not insensitive. The man always said what he had to say, never mind what.

"Dunno." He answered, averting his eyes. He didn't want any godparents at all, because he didn't want Snape to die in the first place. He …

"Think of it." Snape said and he looked up at the man who was watching him with a serious gaze. He took a deep breath and then gave a short nod before turning and walking back to the others, his mind on Snape's words.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He was watching the boy, the much too small and thin figure walking back to the large table in the living room and for a moment he concentrated on the child.

Harry was still too weak for his liking, too thin and too tired - and he was freezing too easily. The large table in the living room was near the fire-place and the armchair Harry was sitting in was the one closest to the fire, Glen had made Harry sitting into this armchair instead of the sofa that wasn't as close to the fire. And still the boy was wearing a cardigan over the hoodie he was wearing - beneath which he was wearing the t-shirt and the undershirt.

He watched the boy sitting back down into his armchair and taking the dices Glen was reaching him.

He was glad that the boy was finally partaking in the group's activities instead of hiding away in a corner of the room at the best and his room at the worst, not daring to allow any interactions because he feared he would miss learning or because he feared he would get the others into danger. He could understand the boy's line of thinking, and so he didn't scold the boy for it, but he knew that it wasn't right and he had hoped that the others would have enough influence on the boy to pull him into their actions before he had to step in.

But well, somehow he guessed it was the same as it was with himself.

He'd arrived here in Canada, not knowing what to expect - and now just a few weeks after they had arrived he had a headmaster that was acting as his mentor in place of Dumbledore, what he was not unhappy about, and he had a bloody healer that was about to - to become a fix person in his life, the man clearly asking for more than just a simple friendship and strangely, he was not opposed to that even if he surely had not planned for anything like that. Not to mention that he had gotten a son and he didn't really know how to explain any of that to the boy. He didn't even know how the boy would react.

Harry had been alone for all his life, only having people around him he couldn't rely on, and now, that he had him, Snape, as his father - the boy seemed rather jealous sometimes. Even if the child would never say something , but he could feel it sometimes, the boy being unhappy if one of the others were demanding his attention in a too _'dangerous'_ way in Harry's eyes. It wouldn't be easy to get Harry used to a normal relationship between them, one in which the child wouldn't get jealous upon him, placing a hand on one of his students' shoulder when they needed reassurance.

So, there was no way how the child would react if Wohehiv were in his, Severus' life too - while at the other hand he definitely felt drawn to the Cheyenne as well. Not to mention that Wohehiv liked the boy.

However, and then he had a sparring partner in Dmitri.

The defence teacher had asked him this forenoon, when Harry and he had been released from the medical wing, and - whatever reason for - he had agreed. Not that he wouldn't have wanted to, that was not the problem, it was a good thing, and he knew this. He'd never relied on his magical abilities only, had always made sure that he was active and that his body was used to working as well as his mind and his magic.

**Flashback**

_"Snape!" Came Dmitri's voice from behind when they were on their way to their house after Wohehiv had finally allowed them out of his imprisonment, and he automatically reached over to place his hand on the boy's shoulder when he turned, not only to steady the brat that jumped at the man's harsh voice, but also to ease his fears too. And he knew that Harry was scared of Dmitri. _

_"I've seen you fighting last night, Snape, and a few days ago - I need a sparring partner and I'd like having you."_

_Well, that was typically for Dmitri. Coming to the point without beating around the bush and then saying what he wanted - or thought - without renaming things with 'maybes' and 'ifs' or 'whats'. He wanted him as a sparring partner, and he'd asked for just that. _

_"Seeing that I have none yet - I agree and do thank you for the offer, Dmitri." He inclined his head, feeling alright with the offer as he knew, Dmitri didn't have a sparring partner yet or he wouldn't have asked - and if he didn't have a sparring partner yet, then that meant that he hadn't found the right one so far even though there were a few good fighters here, like Ragnar, the Norwegian being brilliant, especially with a sword in his hand. On the other hand - he knew that he most likely would rue his rush agreeing sooner or later it as he knew - bruises and sore muscles would be the least of his problems at a regular basis. _

_Dmitri was no one who took a training session for a playtime and he knew, a broken bone or a dislocated shoulder could happen during a serious sparring if you had the right partner and forgot yourself, what most likely was to happen with both of them. And well, he knew that Wohehiv wouldn't be too happy about it either, he thought with a grin while turning the boy and leading him on towards their house. Especially if Wohehiv really wanted more of him than simple friendship, then no - the Cheyenne would really not be happy about it._

**End flashback**

"It's snowing!" Came Andrew's call from the living room, getting him out of his thoughts, and looking up he saw the entire crowd of children - from being fourteen up to being seventeen years old - scrambling over the furniture - and nearly over each other - in an attempt to hastily reach the next window and to look out into the darkness, watching the snow falling, as if it would stop snowing in a moment if they didn't reach the windows in time.

So, it began.

The first snow was falling and even though he knew that it was too early, that it wouldn't be enough snow to remain, it was the first snow anyway and soon there would be more, soon there would be enough to cover the ground with a white blanket, to cover the fields, to cover their garden and to cover the streets, the roofs of the houses. The Dubawnt Lake would be frozen and Dubawnt Lake Hamleton would be a soft landscape like one could see on a postcard.

He knew that he would have a hard time keeping the boy, keeping his son, from getting ill.

The others were used to this climate, to the amount of snow and to temperatures that were far below zero - if there were ice winds, then the temperature would drop even down to seventy degrees below zero, he knew that. He also knew that it was a dryer coldness than the one in Britain, and so he also knew that it would be a more comfortable coldness - if one could speak of coldness being comfortable in the first place, but the sub-zero temperatures that were so far below zero - that was nothing the boy was used to, dry coldness or not. And neither he, but he knew that he would manage while he knew that the boy would have a hard time.

Merlin!

Not that he would complain, he liked it here in Canada, at this school especially. He liked the other teachers and - strange as it sounded - he liked the students, most of them at least, but how could Albus send the boy into the wilderness of the Canadian Barren Ground, for Merlin's sake! How could Albus send the child into an exile that was very likely to get him ill - and killed - sooner than later?

Sighing he got off the chair behind his desk that stood between the living room and the large table the children were playing at and the dining room with a just as large table - and he approached the horde of children, watching the soft snow falling to the ground slowly for a moment while he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, looking down into the pale face for a moment when the boy looked up at him upon the touch.

He would make sure that the child was clothed properly. And he would make sure that he was warm while being at home too. He would make sure that the child was cared for in a way he hadn't been ever before. He just would make sure.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

709 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

701 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

576 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

340 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: post about to be given away


	24. letters from no one

**Title:**

Little robe

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**

AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer: **

As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**

M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**

Chapter contains references to child abuse

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

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**Previously in Little robe **

_Merlin! How could Albus send the boy into the wilderness of the Canadian Barren Ground, for Merlin's sake! How could Albus send the child into an exile that was very likely to get him ill sooner than later? _

_Sighing he got off the chair behind his desk that stood between the living room and the large table the children were playing at and the dining room with a just as large table - and he approached the horde of children, watching the soft snow falling to the ground slowly for a moment while he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, looking down into the pale face for a moment. _

_He would make sure that the child was clothed properly. And he would make sure that he was warm while being at home too. He would make sure that the child was cared for in a way he hadn't been ever before. He just would make sure. _

**Little robe **

**Chapter twenty-four**

**Letters from no one**

A brown owl appearing in the hall had him frowning.

So far there hadn't been owls at any time during meals, delivering letters to the students or teachers, parcels or one or another magazine. Letters and parcels here at this school were delivered by the families' house elves that brought them during the night, placing them at the children's desks in their rooms so that they would find them the next morning, and any official mail was delivered through the headmaster's floo. There was an owl occasionally, but it wasn't common and it was mostly a small festivity itself - and so there were of course a lot of _'ohhhh'_s and _'ahhhh'_s at the owl that was approaching his table, dropping a letter in front of him before landing on his outstretched arm.

"Now, what have you brought?" He asked the bird he knew was Minerva's owl, giving the bird from his chicken nuggets that was for lunch today before opening the letter, pulling out a sheet of paper and another envelope. He read the address on the second -

_'Harry Potter  
c/o Severus Snape  
Academy of arts  
Dubawnt Lake Hamleton  
Barren Ground, Canada'_

"This is yours, I think." He said, handing the envelope to the boy who looked shocked, even scared he couldn't help thinking, only slowly taking the letter and placing it at the table beside his plate - it was clear that the child would not read it here at the table but intended on reading it after lunch and in the privacy of his room - and he knew, he would need to have an eye on the child, just encase.

unfolding the sheet of parchment that was directed at him, Severus Snape, he started reading the missive he knew came from Minerva as it was her owl bringing the letter - and therefore he guessed that the letter for Harry was from either Weasley or Granger, even though it had been Minerva's handwriting on the envelope.

_'Dear Severus,_

_First, I ask you to not writing back as Albus doesn't know about the owl I've sent you and I want this situation to remain for as long as possible - please do tell Mr. Potter the same. _

_Albus has changed since you have gone, Severus. I know, he has changed a lot over the past years already, even though I'm not so sure if he really has changed so much or if we just have stopped trusting him as much as we once did, I don't know. It's hard to tell when the changes have happened while you are so close to someone as we have been to Albus. We have trusted him blindly after all, and we have trusted him with our lives. _

_I for my part can't do this anymore and Filius feels the same. Pomona isn't so sure and you know Horace - he follows everyone who's famous enough to have his face printed on the front page of the Daily Prophet at least once - and Albus has his face printed on the bloody chocolate frog cards even. In other words, I'm sure you know whom Horace's loyally applies to. _

_And Dolores Jane Umbridge, undersecretary of Fudge, our dear Minister, now teacher for defence against the dark arts and high Inquisitor of Hogwarts, doesn't help the situation at all either. That woman is simply one of the worst human beings I've ever met. She's clearly trying to get Albus off his post as headmaster, on Fudge's orders because our dear Minister fears that Albus is trying to gather power so that he can overtake the ministry, as if that had ever been his intentions. _

_I don't know what Albus' intentions are nowadays, but surely not the post as Minister of magic. _

_However, Umbridge is trying to get at Albus through his teachers, inspecting our lessons and getting them off their posts. She already had Sybill off his post and had Albus not stepped in, then she would have thrown her out of the castle too. Binns has been the next one she's sent to retirement and Septima she has thrown out because she couldn't hold her tongue about her teaching style. Hagrid as well as Filius surely will be the next ones, seeing that they're half breeds, and believe it or not, but this woman has her eyes out for half breeds. Not to mention a lot of other teachers - me included - who are on probation. _

_There's something really strange - and serious - going on, Severus, I don't know what it is, really, but something is wrong. With that woman, with Fudge, with Albus and with You-Know-Who too. I don't know what it is with You-Know-Who, seeing that Albus doesn't share information easily, but Fudge seems close to a breakdown and Umbridge is a sadistic fascist who dislikes anyone of mixed races as well as muggle born wizards and witches. Alone her speech on September first: "Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited" and her "carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic" is teaching no practical skills at all._

_What leaves us to Albus. _

_Like I said, I don't know what it's with him, but he's planning something. You've visited him I've heard from one or another ghost or painting, and since this visit he's like beside himself. I fear, he's planning something that has to do with you and Potter as he's drivelling on something about having lost both, his spy and the boy. And seeing that he's making plans - be careful. I know for sure that he's searching for a reason to invite you for Christmas over to Hogwarts this year - consider it well if you accept the invitation. I hope he won't find a reason for your visit that might have you unable to decline. _

_I hope Potter and you are well, Severus, please make sure that both of you stay well. _

_Best regards to both of you_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy headmistress of Hogwarts'_

Well, if that was no warning, then he didn't know what was.

So, Umbridge, the woman who had the boy expelled, was overtaking Hogwarts, slowly but surely, was planning on getting Dumbledore off the post as headmaster, most likely to act headmistress herself and not even Minerva could do something against her - and that did mean something - while Dumbledore himself was trying to get Harry back into his hands so that he had back his weapon.

He wouldn't mind Dumbledore having to leave his post as headmaster of Hogwarts as he did abuse his powers anyway - but not to leave it open for a woman like Umbridge.

"Severus?" Wohehiv asked and he looked over at the Cheyenne. "You look worried. Bad news?"

"Look for yourself." He answered, handing the parchment over to the healer. Of course he knew that Wohehiv wouldn't know the people mentioned in the letter, nor who Umbridge was or Minerva - but he was sure that the primal message he would be able to understand - namely Harry was in danger. Never mind if it was from Dumbledore or Umbridge, but Harry was in danger.

He didn't know how any of the two could get their hands on the boy, Harry was here in Canada, he was attending a school - and officially so - and he was his son, and officially so, by blood - but he wouldn't it put past Albus to have Harry abducted and after what he'd read of Umbridge he wouldn't put it past her to set out a reward for the boy. And what was that about a "High Inquisitor" anyway? That sounded rather medieval-like to him. A separate act from a ministry that didn't want to acknowledge the truth - the moment Fudge realized that the Dark Lord _was indeed_ back, it would be the moment too late, because clearly - that would be the moment the Dark Lord had overtaken the Britain ministry of magic.

"I see." Wohehiv said, handing the letter back at him, the man's normally so friendly and happy face being rather serious now, and dark - so, he had understood.

"I think we should have a word with Acheron over the next few days." He seriously said.

"I agree." The Cheyenne answered, casting a serious glance at him for a moment before he continued eating, not looking at Harry so that he wouldn't startle the boy.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"I'm beginning to see a pattern, and yes, your general line of thinking - using chaos as a defence of your mind - isn't a bad idea to begin with." He said upon having seen another few memories of Weasley and Granger, of Dumbledore holding a start of term speech and of Marge Dursley droning on about how to best breed dogs, about the bad blood in some dogs and the best way to get rid of them. "The problem is, it won't work with the Dark Lord. You are very good, Harry, I'm sure you could have fooled me too, because the only memories I can see are of your friends, of your family talking about dog breeding as if there were nothing wrong with them, and of Dumbledore holding one or another speech. I would call you a lazy idiot who didn't even _try_ to keep me out of your mind if I didn't know better, if I didn't know that there are memories you are trying to keep hidden - therefore you are actually selecting which memories you allow me to see and which not - very sneaky of you as normally a simple occurence would try to keep the legillimence out of his mind completely. To allow me in while selecting the memories, you have me believing that you are unable to occlude at all so that I'd skim though a few memories you've decided safe for me to see and then give up, deciding that there's nothing worth to see."

"But why wouldn't it work with uncle Voldie then?" The boy asked, clearly not understanding - and clearly frustrated. He didn't know the content of the letter that had been addressed to the boy, but he was sure that it wasn't too good news either - and knowing Granger, or Weasley, they had informed the boy about Umbridge and her post as defence teacher and High Inquisitor.

"Because it is getting a bit more complicated than just showing a memory or two." He explained. Harry was banned from afternoon lessons for this week - as was he, Wohehiv overtaking his afternoon classes for those few days - and so they had decided to do a bit of occlumency, not much of it and he surely wouldn't do so in a way that would harm or hurt the boy, knowing that Harry was weak enough as it was, not to mention his bound magic. But well, as a very accomplished legillimence, he knew a few ways more of how to enter someone's mind without causing pain and exhaustion. "The mind doesn't have just memories - there are emotions too. The memories you are allowing me to see are just that, simple memories, but they are not linked with the emotions that belong to them - and so I know that they are selected by you. Not to mention that there is more than just simple emotions in your mind like happiness, sadness, anger, fear or nervousness. There are a lot of sub-emotions that give away certain details about your memories being prepared by you too - it's a psychological phenomenon that sets off warning bells throughout any legillimence. I can see you taking a deeper breath in your mind, I can feel your hand twitching, your fingers fidgeting, I can see your memories hesitate for a moment before they're played out - and these all are tell-tale signs that you are playing a part. It is the combination of both, feeling the minds' emotions and being able to read the person's memories - or rather what stands behind them - while at the same time feeling the body reaction from the one ligilimiced."

"Then there's no way that I can fool uncle Voldie any more than I could fool you?" The boy asked, nearly sounding desperate.

"There is." He answered. "But learning it, won't be easy. You'll first need to know what it feels like if someone is going beyond the memories you present to look at those memories you are trying to hide. Are you ready for me to go deeper into your mind?"

Well, there was a moment of hesitation - and rightfully so - but then the boy took another deep breath and then inclined his head.

"Then come here, brat." He said, waving the child over, feeling - strange - at the knowledge that this particular child would allow him to invade his mind beyond his barriers. "I'll do this in a very special way. So far we've been both sitting at the sofa, close to each other, but looking at each other - and while I've had my hand resting on your knee, I have not used legillimency through touch but through looking into your eyes. I'll now use legillimency through having my palm over your forehead to enter your mind - what will be much more comfortable - nearly like using a pensive. Alright?"

Well, the nervousness the boy radiated was clearly growing, but again there was a small nod from the child and so he turned the boy on his shoulders and pulled him close until he was leaning with his back against his, Snape's, chest - a weird feeling, having his son leaning against him as if they were close since years. Placing his palm at the boy's forehead he frowned at the coldness of the child's face, but he brushed it aside for now. He'd known that the boy was always cold, always freezing, so that was nothing new to him. He'd known that he would have to cast a few warming charms at the boy's bed and room too.

"Ready?" He asked and then, upon another small nod, gently entered the boy's mind.

Again there were several memories which were clearly meant by the boy for him to see - his first time on a broom, Harry and Weasley exchanging Chocolate Frog Cards, Harry and Granger sitting in the library and last but not least, the boy beaming happily upon Dumbledore's announcement that Gryffindor had won the house cup.

Pushing them aside and going deeper into the boy's mind he frowned when there was said boy himself suddenly standing in front of him, a small and scrawny skeletal Harry Potter of about - six or seven years - and for a moment he didn't know what to do, just stood there and looked down at the child. He'd never before had such a situation, that the owner of one's mind appeared in his own mind, and surely not in a younger version.

"You should turn an' go." The boy said, the small voice sounding soft and very young, but calm. "This' not for you."

"I won't turn." He answered, startled upon the fact that he even could answer the child in his mind. "I will not go away."

"He wouldn't like you to see." The boy then said, not moving aside.

"Who?" He asked, not understanding whom the boy meant. Dursley? Dumbledore? He was too young for having met Dumbledore, but on the other hand - it was _this _Harry's mind, the fifteen year old teenager's mind - and therefore the information about Dumbledore had to be in there already.

"_He._" The boy insisted. "Harry."

"You're not Harry?" He asked, frowning, clearly not understanding, because he even could see the scar on the boy's forehead.

"Sure." The boy answered. "But the _other_ Harry, the one who's _now_ there."

Well, he clearly didn't understand any of what the child was trying to tell him, but he shook his head. He would talk with Harry about that later.

"I don't care." He answered. "I ask you to move aside and allow me through."

"'k." The much younger and smaller Harry said and he frowned. Was this meant to being that easy? Surely no defence should be so easy! Being ordered to move aside and then it did as he was asked. "But just 'cause you're his dad. He's trusting you, you know? And he's calling you dad in his mind. Can I too? I'm Harry too. Can I too call you dad? I've always wanted a dad."

Blinking at the child stupidly he nearly gasped at the offending word.

Dad!

Dad?

How had the bloody brat … Merlin! Why would that bloody boy think he could call him a word like - _dad!_ That was a three-letter word that was anything than a simple word and surely one of the most offending and horrified words existing … this word was the most complicated word in the human language, because it implied so very much and …

The boy's face falling and becoming distant got him out of his thoughts and gritting his teeth for a moment he prepared for the worst before -

"You may." He stiffly answered, watching the child's small face lighting up again. "Will you now allow me through?"

"Sure, dad." The bloody imp, barely reaching his stomach, smiled up at him and ignoring the offending word he walked past the boy who stepped aside, walked along a long, long corridor, until he reached a door at the end of it, a door that was clearly a cupboard door.

So, that was the cupboard they had put the boy in - and even though the long corridor surely didn't fit into the Dursleys' house, especially not as this corridor didn't even have other doors on one side or the other, he knew that in the child's mind it surely was longer than it had been in reality - the long way towards his prison - and he needed to take a deep breath. It was one thing to know about the cupboard they had locked the child in, but it was an entirely different thing to see it now, the place where they had locked in a child for sleeping so that he was out of the way during the night, like one wouldn't even lock away an animal.

For a moment he stood there, not sure what to do as there was nothing else than this - _'room'_ - for the lack of a better word.

"You wanna see _him_, don't you?" The boy asked, looking up at him, nearly scared.

"Yes." He simply answered.

"He's in there." The boy said, taking a step closer to him and lifting up his hands - in the clear need of being picked up - and in his first shock he stared at the brat with an open mouth for a moment before realizing - this was his son. Even though only in a memory and much younger, but - this was his son. Taking a deep breath he reached down and picked the boy up, placed the already much too small form on his hip before he reached out to open the door of the cupboard.

A moment later he was _inside_ the cupboard, the door closed and looking down at a child, a child that was as small as was the one he was carrying on his hip, the small form clinging to him in a death like grip, trembling and silently crying. And looking down at the child in the cupboard, a small form with blood dried long ago on his clothes, a small and skeletal form that was crying too, trying to open the door of the cupboard one way or another, he knew why the other child was so scared, because somehow he didn't know how this child on the floor could be alive still.

"When was that, Harry?" He asked the boy he was holding, knowing that it was a memory and that therefore the answer was in the past - and knowing that he wouldn't even be able to help the child on the floor, his son - a thought that nearly choked him, that had rage and fury rising in his chest painfully, physically painfully, nearly leaving him trembling with the rage and fury he could feel soaring through his system.

"It's been Christmas holidays." The boy sobbed, whispered. "Uncl' V'non and aunt P'tunia went to holidays with Dudley and left me in the cupboard 'cause Mrs. Figg didn't have time to take me."

Holidays? There were several alarm bells ringing in his mind and with a nearly horrified look on his face - and clearly feeling ill to his stomach - he looked down at the child on the floor.

"How long were they gone?" He asked, his own voice a whisper only.

"I don't know." The boy sobbed into his shoulder. "But I've heard Mrs. Mason's dog barking six times and he only barks when Mrs. Alton takes her dog out in the morning. The other times she's taking the dog to the fields for a walk, but in the morning she's going to the bakery and takes her dog with her and she's walking along Privet Drive, and then Mrs. Mason's dog barks. Every morning."

"You've been locked in here for six days?" He asked horrified. He'd known that they'd locked the boy in a cupboard for sleeping, using a cupboard as the boy's _'room'_, even having him in there for a day or two, but - for six days while they went on a holiday? That was -

"That's been the longest." The boy whispered. "Normally it was for three days or so at the most.

"Did they at least leave you some food?" He couldn't help asking, even though he knew the answer to that already, because the child that was laying on the floor had clearly not eaten anything in a week or longer even.

"Aunt P'tunia left me a bottle of water, but I couldn't open it and so I hit it at the shelf so that it broke and then there was some water spilled. And I cut my lip too, see?" The boy whispered and taking a deep breath he nodded his head for a moment when the child he was holding pointed at his lip to show him.

He could see the cut on the parched lips of the child on the floor too, and he could see the dirty, thin and dehydrated body too, thin and bleeding fingers trying to open the door one way or another, over and over again between periods when the boy was simply laying there, too weak to move at all.

"Yes, I see." He answered. "And I have seen enough too anyway. I think, it is time to leave this cupboard, child."

"But - uncl' V'non'll come home." The boy whispered with a horrified voice and a just as horrified look on his face, and he wondered how he was to explain the child that here in this memory, he couldn't do anything, that here, in this memory he wouldn't even be able to touch either the boy or anything from the cupboard. But then - "You need to know." The boy child he was holding whispered. "You need to know what happened. Someone needs to know." And somehow this sentence caused a cold shiver running down his back.

"What is it that is going to happen?" He asked, his eyes fixed on the terrified little creature on the floor that barely looked human anymore.

A moment later when the cupboard door was ripped open violently, he had his answer.

Things happened so quickly after that, he barely understood what was going on at all.

"The freak's alive still, but look at this mess, Vernon!" Petunia screeched in her usual high-pitched voice. "I've told you to not let the freak out of sight! And he's been trying to get out too."

"Trying to get … what the ruddy hell have you done in there!" Vernon Dursley roared upon seeing the bottle being broken - and what followed was one of the most sever beatings the Potions Master had ever witnessed. He watched Dursley pulling the small form out of the cupboard, ordering Petunia to clean the mess away before the - _'freak'_ - could get himself killed with the shards while beating the boy for creating such a mess so that his aunt had to do the extra work of cleaning it up.

He even turned away from the scene with the child he was holding so that the boy couldn't look, not wanting the child to witness the beating. It had been cruel enough to endure it in the first place, there was no need in further cruelly while witnessing it again, even from an outward point of view. Finally, when the child had given up trying to defend himself or to turn away and escape the beating, his body jerking helplessly, the monster hoisted him up and then threw him back into the cupboard - the prison he had fought so hard and so desperately to escape.

"They locked you in here again?" Snape asked, shocked, horrified, but earning nothing but a careless shrug from the child he was still holding.

"That's when I came." The boy whispered and he frowned, not understanding. "Haven't been there much before, only then. What you've seen was all I remember from before I came here."

Not really understanding he took a deep breath to calm his own mind - and to think of a way about how to explain that he had to leave without being able to help, not even knowing why it would be important anyway, seeing that this only was a memory he was viewing, nothing else, nothing more.

"What do you mean, that's all you remember from before you came here?" He asked.

"Dunno." The child whispered. "Haven't been there before uncle Vernon locked me in here. Dunno what happened, but suddenly I've been here."

And slowly, starting to understand with a horrifying clarity, he could watch the child on the floor stopping to breathe and he knew - Harry had died in here. This child had died and somehow his magic had - had done what? Had gotten him back to life? Had given him a new body? Had - had done what? He didn't know it, but maybe he wasn't meant to know it in the first place. There were things between heaven and earth that better remained unknown and somehow he knew, this was one of these things.

Harry was alive, and that was all that counted.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He had been shocked, more than shocked, because he suddenly had realized that the Dursleys' abuse of the child had been even more serious than what he had thought originally - and his original knowledge of the abuse had already been not only cruel but dangerous, life threatening - inhuman. But suddenly he had realized that it hadn't only been cruel and inhuman, but deathly, because suddenly he had realized that Harry indeed _had_ died in this cupboard back then, when he'd been five or six years old. One way or another the child had died and then his magic had kept him alive one way or another, or had him pulled back into life, had - he didn't know what had happened, he didn't know how such a thing could even be possible, but he knew that when it came to magic, then there were things between heaven and earth that couldn't be explained by the wisest of men.

But this second Harry that had appeared during those days in the cupboard, or after them, he didn't know that either, this child had been the original Harry that had remained behind when his magic had pulled him back into life, a small scarecrow that remained, that couldn't leave his mind as it was part of his mind - at least this was the only explanation he had - and it was a thought that … suddenly he realized that it was a thought that hurt. It was _his son_ that had died back then, it was _his son_ that had been the small skeleton, desperately trying to get out of the cupboard with fingers that had already been bleeding, and the pain he could feel in his chest was robbing him off his breath, was suffocating him, was -

He didn't realize his tight grip he had on the child that still lay in his arms until there was a slight squirm and taking a deep breath he loosened his grip a bit, not ready to release the child entirely yet.

"I'm sorry that I'm such a freak." The boy suddenly said, softly, like always, a soft and scratchy whisper and he needed a moment until he realized what exactly the child had said, but then he took the child on his shoulders and turned him so that he had to face him.

"You're not a freak, Harry." He said, just as softly and his voice sounding just as rough as Harry's did. "Please don't call yourself that."

"But I am!" The teen suddenly sobbed. "That's what they said! Always! I've always been different … always a freak!"

"Don't listen to them, Harry." He growled, nearly wanting to shake the child he was holding on his shoulders. "They know nothing of the child you really are. You're a wizard, Harry. That doesn't make you a freak."

He pulled the child - his son - back into his arms the moment Harry's shoulders started shaking with silent sobs and he tried to give as much comfort as possible. Comfort he should have given years ago to his son, he realized - but he hadn't. His son had been alone for years, battling for his life, for his health and for his sanity, while he, Severus, hadn't even known that the child was his son, nor that the child had been battling for his life since his earliest childhood in the first place or he would have done something, he was sure, never mind what, he would have done something back thenn already - had he just known.

There was a long silence, a long silence during which the child in his arms slowly calmed down again - as did he, and when Wohehiv entered their house and came into the living room where they were sitting, they both were calm again - even though his anger at the Dursleys, his fury and his rage, had not calmed down.

Well, Wohehiv was doing this a lot lately, coming to visit them and as he wasn't an idiot, he knew exactly why the Cheyenne was visiting them - namely because of him, and because of Harry. He didn't know if he was ready, taking this particular step - and not only because of himself, but because of Harry too. Harry needed him, his father, and he needed him for himself, not to share him with someone else.

Said boy looking up at him with a pale face and eyes that were red from the crying he'd done earlier, the boy asked a question that nearly robbed him off his breath again - "You don't hate me?"

"Why would I hate you, child?" He asked after he had taken a deep breath. "I have wronged you enough in the past, Harry, and the only thing I can do is apologizing and trying to make it better somehow. I do not hate you, Harry. I think I have never really hated you at all. Your father and I didn't have the best of relationship during our years at Hogwarts when we were children. Take Draco and yourself, Harry, and then you have the relationship I have shared with your father. It was never really hate, but a lot of anger and hurt, on both sides as I have to admit that - I gave as good as I got, I was not innocent in this resentment between your father and my person."

"You know how stupid that is?" The boy hiccupped and he had to admit that - Harry was correct. That was stupid, to hold a grudge against someone dead long enough to continue it with the person's - son. But James Potter had never been the boy's father. He was. He, Severus Snape, he was the child's father, Potter had not taken Lily from him because her child was his child and somehow he knew that she had known.

"Yes, I think that I realize how stupid that is, child." He answered, eliciting a small laugh from the child. "But that doesn't answer my question, Harry. Why would I hate you? Now that we are getting along so well?"

"Because of what I let them do to me …"

"You will stop this line of thinking right now, Mr. Potter." He growled. "Or should I rather say, Mr. Snape? Because that is what you are, a Snape! They were monsters that happily took the money they were given to keep you, while they denied you even the most substantial needs like food and water until you even died, and exactly that was what had happened back then in that bloody cupboard, child. You have died, they had killed you - and only your magic had pulled you back. That is the reason as to why in your mind there is a second Harry, a small little Harry. Because he was the child that had died. I cannot explain it any better to you because I don't have an explanation at all, but that is what those monsters had done to you. They are to be blamed for a child's death, for your death."

"But … but it wasn't their fault." The idiot boy said and he had to force himself to take a deep breath and let the boy continue, watching while a very startled and pale Wohehiv cast another diagnostic at the news he'd just overheard. "They just don't like my world, and they don't like magic, and so it's only normal that they don't like me either. They've been forced to take me. And I can't blame them anyway. You know, anytime someone from our world was around them, then things happened and they weren't good things. First Dumbledore had put me on their doorsteps, then Hagrid got Dudley a pig's tail, Dobby dropped that cake on the wife of a colleague from uncle Vernon and then I've blown up aunt Marge. Fred and George had Dudley's tongue swelling and Mr. Weasley exploded their living room wall because he'd thought they would be connected to the floo network. You see, they've always gotten into trouble because of magic and wizards."

"Do not excuse their deeds, Hahkethomemah." Wohehiv said before he could say something, the Indian taking the boy's pale and thin hands into his own darker and stronger ones, pulling the boy from his arms and he took the opportunity to grasp the parchment to read this new diagnostic, recognizing the long-term diagnostic the healer had done this time. "There is no excuse for what they have done to an innocent child, to you. Absolutely no excuse. They have not only hurt you badly, and for years, but they have killed you. Mokatavatah is right, child. You would not be here, had not your magic done a small miracle. Maybe Manitou didn't want you going to the happy haunting grounds, maybe he knew that you would be needed one day by your father, but never mind what, it was a small miracle that had happened that day."

"Wouldn't have gone there anyway." The boy said and he frowned over at the child that was his son between his reading. "Aren't only warriors allowed there?"

"You have fought for your life for years, Hahkethomemah, don't you think that you were already considered as a great warrior?" Wohehiv asked back and he huffed at the man. Let it be Wohehiv's part to make the boy laughing through his tears. "You have been alone, fighting for your life while no adult around you had time for you. You have shown much more strength than one or another warrior, physically as well as mentally."

"Haven't." The boy shrugged his shoulders and again he was reminded at how unselfish the child was. "Sure I wished that they - but well, it's just, uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia hated me for bothering them with anything. They always had time to do things with Dudley, but never for - well, the first time aunt Petunia told me to do the laundry I didn't know how to start the washing machine and I've been too small to read the instructions. I've only just been in school and there's been a lot of big words in the instructions manual which I couldn't read and didn't understand anyway. But when I asked aunt Petunia for help because I thought that she wouldn't mind as she wanted the laundry being done anyway, she got angry and screamed at me about how stupid I was, and about how much time I was costing them, and then uncle Vernon heard her screaming at me and he came too."

"What happened then, Harry?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer - and wasn't looking forwards to hearing it.

"He's got angry." The boy said, shrugging his shoulders as if saying - _'he's got angry and I wasn't allowed desert after dinner.'_

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Of course Harry had not been planning on telling Snape - Severus … his father, whatever, about anything at all, but somehow the older wizard's concern and care had loosened his tongue and it all had come out - aunt Petunia's hateful comments and endless chores and days of hunger, uncle Vernon's beatings and locking him away in the cupboard for days and days, punishing him for having nightmares, for anything strange that had happened around them, for having magic, for being a wizard, for existing and for stealing their time and food and money and space - all the years of cruel neglect, of cruel words and of cruel abuse which he'd had never planned on telling anyone at all.

When he'd been finally finished, he'd felt embarrassed and for a moment he wished he could take it all back and keep it locked inside him forever. But at the same time, he felt so safe in Snape's arms, safer than he'd ever felt before, and lighter somehow, as if a big hard knot that had been tied up inside him had been loosened finally. His jumbled-up feelings were just so confusing, he wasn't even sure how he felt.

Wohehiv too had been there, all the time, but somehow that hadn't made him feeling even more embarrassed. It hadn't made it better too, but it hadn't made it worse either, it just hadn't changed anything at all.

Snape had been strangely silent throughout his story, had only once in a while said something, but he hadn't interrupted him and when he'd been speaking again, his voice had sounded strangely.

"I haven't done anything yet, even though I have planned on visiting them since we have first learned of the abuse a few weeks ago." Snape had said, sounding darker and angrier than he'd ever heard him, and that surely meant something as Snape had always been angry at him for years. "But I think that it is time we need to decide on appropriate consequences for those bloody and filthy vermin you had the misfortune to be related to."

"Mokatavatah!" Wohehiv had said, shocked. "Name-calling won't help anyone." Well, one day he surely would ask the healer what the meaning of Mokatavatah was. Somehow he was sure that Snape wouldn't like it, Wohehiv could be as sarcastic as was Snape sometimes, only just not in such a cruel way. On the other hand, he wasn't so sure if Snape's sarcasm was really cruel, because he'd seen the man and his comments from a different side now, and he had learned that - if he allowed it, he even could manage to laugh at some of the man's comments.

"Name-calling will be the least of their worries once I'm finished with them." Snape had answered darkly.

"Couldn't we just forget about them, sir? Please?" He had asked, feeling more scared than ever.

His father - there, he had at least _thought_ it! - had given him an incredulous look. One he'd given him back in fourth year, when his name had appeared from the goblet, when he'd crossed the man on his way to the chamber behind the great hall, he'd looked up at him for a moment, not sure himself why he'd done that, not sure himself if he'd silently asked the man to help him, maybe knowing that - if no one could, then Snape would be able to. And the Potions Master, his father, had been looking down at him, with very much the same look he had been looking at him this afternoon, when he'd asked him to just forget about the Dursleys.

"Those vile Muggles abused and neglected you for years, from the time you were a small toddler." He'd said. "Do you really think they should be allowed to get away with that? Don't you think they deserve some type of punishment?"

He hadn't understood why it was so important for Snape, for his father, to do this.

He didn't understand it still, while he was sitting in a corner of the music workroom, listening to the others. He'd soon realized that Snape liked them to do things on their own, that he didn't order them, that he didn't follow any kind of curriculum or something like that, that they - _practically_ - could do as they wanted. Strange, really, Snape of all teachers letting them do as they pleased during his lessons. But well, right now he was happy about it, because that allowed him to think while just listening to the music around him, to the piano and to the transverse flute, to the violin and to the drums.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Watching the boy with some sense of worry he allowed him his peace, allowed him to just sitting there, thinking, listening to the music, and drawing in the sand of the cactuses he had planted in a corner of the room that had been empty and a dead space anyway as it had been an alcove in the room. He'd created a square hole in the dungeons floor, had filled the entire inner area of the corner with sand and had then planted cactuses there until the hole had been filled and at ground level with the outer area of the alcove with sand, the bright sand standing in a colorful contrast to the dark wood of the floor. He'd then planted some variations of the infantarius cactuses, a wizarding plant that was similar to a cactus without spines, a plant that was generally a green, nodular plant with either succulent leaves or a colorful blossom. He had planted variations of both and then he'd placed a few seat cushions on the dark wooden floor around the sandy area while having candles floating amongst the cactuses. It was a spot in the room to withdraw for a moment, to dream, to think, to imagine things - an ideal place for Harry, even though he hadn't been creating it for the boy particularly when he had done so back during the first few days of the term.

Frowning he went over to the boy who was sitting on one of the cushions, close to the sand, drawing patterns in the sand and he sat down beside him while still listening to the other boys' music, while still concentrating on their work.

And work it was, he knew that. It wasn't simply their hobby, no - it was their passion, it was what they would be able living for, and doing for life, he knew that - or they would have chosen something different. Drawing was a hobby for Harry, and writing was a hobby for Glen - but neither had Harry chosen the drawing class nor had Glen chosen the literature class. Terry loved it to create things, but he hadn't chosen the craftmanship class because he wouldn't be able doing this for his life - but music. That was the difference between a hobby and passion. If you woke up in the morning and if you knew that you had to sing or play an instrument, to make music - then it was not a hobby but a passion. And so, even though they all were in school, learning things - they were working. They all were working for their futures - and that was the reason as to why he didn't interfere. He gave a hint here and there, he made a suggestion here and there, he offered a thing or two - he was leading them - but he was not ordering them to do anything, nor did he follow any curriculum as - for a child's life, there was no curriculum existing.

He allowed them to find their own ways, because that was what they would have to do all their lives, finding their own ways.

Frowning he noticed that - it was a motorbike the boy was drawing in the sand.

But it wasn't a simple motorbike. No.

It was a motorbike that was so very much detailed that - it was startling _how_ detailed this motorbike was, as if drawn with a pencil on a large sheet of white paper. The lines the boy had drawn in the sand, which were deeper and therefore darker, were shadowed in different shades of brown and grey, brown of the sand and grey of the shadows. But that wasn't all of it.

Not only that those lines were so very fine that he had to catch his breath for a moment, but also - all those details were so very much detailed - he could recognize the ribs from the v-engine even, he could recognize the spokes of the wheels, the shadows of the chrome and - Merlin, the tank showed even a shadowed green. A green so dark, it was nearly black, but it was clearly green and he wondered how Harry had managed coloring the sand while just drawing with his fingers in the soft substance.

He knew that the bike the boy had drawn was a chopper, he even knew that it was an EN500 - he'd seen that particular bike before, after all, and often so - but somehow it seemed wrong to him as it was too - chunky. The tank was too broad, the wheel fork too long and the handlebar was too long too. The seat and the socius was at a very soft stretch and much wider, and even the exhaust was different from what he remembered.

But Merlin - how could _that child_ remember?

He'd been twenty-one years old when he'd seen that bike the last time, but the child had been a year only! How could he remember it still?

And how could he draw it as clearly and as detailed as he had just done? In sand?

The boy looking over at him pulled him out of his thoughts and wordlessly he reached over and pulled the child close until again Harry leaned against him.

He noticed the music changing, getting softer and getting slower, but like always he was alright with his class, knowing that they just adapted to the situation that was displayed between Harry and him, they were watching, they were reacting, and - judging the music, they were alright.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe **

_A serious talk between one teacher and one student._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

710 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

703 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

584 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

353 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife, on probation


	25. number four, Godric's Hollow

**Title:**  
Little robe

**Author:**  
evil minded

**Timeframe:**  
After the fourth year at Hogwarts

**Summary:**  
AU / Dumbledore sends Harry and Severus to a small academy in Canada. Will Harry manage to handle all the changes around him added to his usual troubles and how will Severus handle his new post in a country where he isn't known as a Death Eater?

**Disclaimer:**  
As much as I love Wohehiv - I really would like to own Severus … regrettably, I don't … J.K. Rowling owns him - and others in this story. So I only can borrow them a bit for building a new sandcastle - or a small town in this case … I promise I won't carry sand into the house …

**Rating:**  
M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**  
Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … thank you …

**Warning:**  
Chapter contains references to child abuse  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs - whichever - of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been abused.  
what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me - I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in Little robe**  
_He knew that the bike the boy had drawn was a chopper, he even knew that it was an EN500 - he'd seen that particular bike before, after all, and often so - but somehow it seemed wrong to him as it was too - chunky. The tank was too broad, the wheel fork too long and the handlebar was too long too. The seat and the socius was at a very soft stretch and much wider, and even the exhaust was different from what he remembered. _  
_But Merlin - how could that child remember? _  
_He'd been twenty-one years old when he'd seen that bike the last time, but the child had been a year only! How could he remember it still? _  
_And how could he draw it as clearly and as detailed as he had just done? In sand? _  
_The boy looking over at him pulled him out of his thoughts and wordlessly he reached over and pulled the child close until again Harry leaned against him. _  
_He noticed the music changing, getting softer and getting slower, but like always he was alright with his class, knowing that they just adapted to the situation that was displayed between Harry and him, they were watching, they were reacting, and - judging the music, they were alright. _

**Little robe **  
**Chapter twenty-five**  
**Number four, Godric's Hollow**

"Harry?" He gently asked, knowing how difficult this surely had to be for the child. "Are you ready to go?"  
"No." The boy answered and he sighed, knowing that - of course the child wasn't ready for that, how could any child be ready for a visit like they were going to do, even though there were enough wizards accompanying them. "But I guess it has to be done, so I guess it's best getting it over with."  
"You don't need to do the first part, Harry." He softly said, ignoring the wizards that stood around them. "I cannot spare you the second part, it is important that you face them or they will haunt you for the remainder of your life, but you do not have to visit your - your parents' grave today if you are not ready for that."  
"I'm ready for that more than for visiting the Dursleys, even though it's a strange feeling." The teen answered and he nodded his head.  
"I know." He said, gently running his fingers over the child's face, eliciting a startled look from said child. "Don't forget, Harry, you are not alone. Do you have anything you need?" He then asked, knowing that they best got it over with. "Your wand?"  
"Yes." Harry answered, his right hand going to his left arm where he had his wand in a holster beneath the sleeves of his shirt and cloak, the wand he had bought the boy just two days ago, on Tuesday, when he had decided that it was time that Harry not only visited his mother's graveyard finally, but also that they had to put dealings with the Dursleys behind them.  
"The flowers and the candle?" He asked, seriously. Harry had never been to anyone's grave and so he surely wouldn't know what to do - he simply had provided the child with what he would need when visiting his mother - and James.  
James Potter.  
That man had died to save his son's life, even though he was sure that Potter had not known about Harry being his, Snape's, son and not Potter's, without that man giving his life for the boy, his son wouldn't be here anymore - even though the Dursleys had done a very fine job in making sure that the boy wouldn't survive anyway, despite Lily's and Potter's sacrifice.  
"Yes." Harry again answered, noticing the bag he, Severus, had slung over his shoulder and giving him a questioning look.  
"Just a few things I thought we could be in need of while we're away." He answered the unspoken question on the pale face. He knew that several of the teachers stood nearby, waiting for them and watching the scene, but the Potion's Master ignored them, his whole focus being on Harry alone.

**Flashback**  
_"Haven't you done your homework already?" He asked, entering the library when the boy - again - was late for meals. He still didn't understand this desperate need to learn, but he wasn't even sure if this desperate need hadn't been already existent back then at Hogwarts. He'd never allowed himself to get close enough to the young student to learn any of his habits but had jumped to conclusions rather quickly. _  
_"Yes." Harry answered. "I've finished it yesterday already."_  
_Well, the week had gone by rather quickly and it had gone by better than it had started on Monday where Harry had refused to speak at all after he'd released so many of his secrets with the Dursleys. Tuesday hadn't been any better, and even Wednesday the boy had only spoken if there was no other way - and both, Wohehiv and him, had made sure that there had been rarely another way. He knew that Harry had hated it, but he also knew that it was important, because the longer Harry was falling into this silence, the more likely he would get used to it and then they were back to the beginning, when the boy had barely spoken anything for days and days. But well, Thursday Harry had been much more talkative again and he had been very happy about that, the boy had felt much better, had been back to eating a bit more than the previous days, and today the child was nearly back to - 'normal'. Not that he would consider Harry as a normal child at all, surely not. The boy was much too silent for a boy his age, much too guarded and reserved, and much too obedient - but at least he had started being a bit more normal than he'd been in the beginning. _  
_"So, what are you researching then?" He asked, knowing that they didn't have any more homework. _  
_"I'm looking for spells to use against uncle Voldie." The boy answered and he took a deep breath. Of course it wold be something like that. _  
_"And?" He asked silkily. "What do you plan to do … seeking him out?"_  
_"Yes, Sir." Was Harry's quiet response, spoken so seriously and calmly, he knew that it was not a joke._  
_'Merlin, is he planning a suicide mission?' He couldn't help thinking while he tried to get himself back under control. 'Does he have a death wish?' Well, it certainly sounded like it - and he didn't like it, not one bit. _  
_"Even if you do succeed, he would kill you too." He growled darkly, leaning with his hands on the tabletop._  
_"I'm willing to risk that if it means that uncle Voldie dies too." Was Harry's just as calm response as he'd responded before._  
_"Promise me you won't go searching for the Dark Lord." He demanded._  
_"What?" Harry asked, looking at him nearly shocked. _  
_"Promise me!" Severus said harshly, hitting his palm at the desktop to get Harry's attention, but a moment later the boy flinched away from him, large eyed and more than just startled and Severus immediately calmed._  
_Taking a deep breath he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder to calm the child. _  
_"My apology." He calmly said. "It was not my intention to scare you, Harry, I just wanted your promise that you wouldn't go after the Dark Lord. You are still a child, Harry. Give yourself some time to enjoy life. The Order is doing it's best to stop the Dark Lord. You needn't face him until you are ready - if at all." Severus said._  
_"He took my blood to resurrect himself, dad." The child said and several alarm bells in his consciousness started ringing. Not because of the Dark Lord taking Harry's blood, he already had known that, the boy had already told him that - no, but because of the boy's choice of addressing him - with a dad - and he remembered a horrible situation just a few days ago: "'k." The much younger and smaller Harry said and he frowned. Was this meant to being that easy? Surely no defence should be so easy! Being ordered to move aside and then it did as he was asked. "But just 'cause you're his dad. He's trusting you, you know? And he's calling you dad in his mind. Can I too? I'm Harry too. Can I too call you dad? I've always wanted a dad."_  
_So - the boy was desperate, very desperate, desperate enough to admit that - for once in his life he needed a father. _  
_"Oh Harry." He sighed, wrapping the child in his arms. "I do understand." And he did. He finally understood why Harry felt so much responsibility for the Dark Lord's actions, for the deaths that madman had caused. _  
_"I don't want to be linked with him, dad." The child sobbed while he gently pulled him closer into his arms._  
_"Hush, child, I know." He replied rubbing circles on the still too bony back. "And I promise you, we will find a solution to that - but I want you to promise me that you won't go and search for him."_  
**End flashback**

He had known that he had to visit Godric's Hollow with the child back then, to give the child a chance to start healing finally.  
Not that one visit to his parents' grave would do that, surely not, but that boy was so confused, so worked up and so unsure of all that was him - he just _needed_ to visit his parents' grave. And he deliberately used the plural form, because even though James Potter hadn't been the child's father, as they had learned differently recently, Harry had only _him_ known as his father for years, for his entire life - he didn't expect the child to let loose so soon, if ever. Most likely James Potter would always hold a place in the boy's heart that was compared to that of a father, but strangely, knowing that the man had given his life for his son, it didn't bother him as much as it would have bothered him a few days or weeks ago.  
However, he knew that the boy needed this particular visit at his parents' graveyard so that he could - say good-bye, so that he could grief, cry or heal in any other way that would be just as important.  
Of course there were several other things that were just as important, like visiting the Dursleys, and preferably together with Harry so that the boy had the chance to face them, or like Harry starting a therapy, like Harry learning how to clear his mind and much more - but for now, a visit at a graveyard - and then his relatives - would have to do so that the child could finally get clear with a few things that was his past and him. And so he had arranged this trip together with Acheron and a few teachers, not only to keep them safe, but to act as witnesses too - just in case.  
"I know that Dumbledore has taken you to Hogwarts via apparition, Harry." He softly said, looking down at the child that was his son. "But this time we will do an intercontinental apparition and that will be a bit more uncomfortable. I suggest you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, that will help."  
Well, he knew that the Dark Lord had positioned his Death Eaters at several points all over wizarding Britain - and one of those points was Godric's Hollow while another was Privet Drive, he was sure of that, he knew how the Dark Lord was thinking after all and so he knew - they would have to be more than just simply careful.  
He waited until Acheron and Dmitri had apparated away, he then looked up at the others and upon inclining his head he apparated himself and Harry too to Godric's Hollow, to the graveyard where Lily and Potter were lain to rest, knowing that the other wizards would follow.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Of course he knew what apparition felt like as Professor Dumbledore had taken him to Hogwarts via apparition, and so he knew that it felt horrible - in other words, Harry didn't like to apparate, but he knew that it was the quickest way to get there and so, clutching Snape's robes with one hand and the man's sleeves with his other, Harry waited, closing his eyes and wondering how the day would work out.  
He was pretty nervous - and surely not because of the apparition. He didn't like apparition, but that was still nothing he actually would get nervous upon, he'd survived quite worse than that. No - he was nervous because he was to visit his mother's grave and he didn't know what to do then, what they would expect of him, what - he absolutely didn't know what would await him there. He'd never been on any graveyard expect of the one from Riddle, but that surely didn't count and …  
For a moment he felt panic flooding him at alone the _thought_ of being at a graveyard, at alone the _thought_ of Death Eaters that might be there - and he wasn't stupid, he knew that Severus and all the other teachers that were accompanying him expected trouble or they wouldn't come along in the first place, not as many of them at least. What if they called uncle Voldie to the graveyard then? What if - what if that monster would then be doing something with his mother's grave like he'd done with his own father's back then at the Riddle graveyard? What if …  
He could feel Snape's, his father's, arms tightening their grip around him and a moment later they appeared in what had to be Godric's Hollow. He tried to move, to look around, but his father tightened his grip even more, signalling him that he had to stay where he was and then there were several more cracking sounds, caused by apparition and for another moment he could feel the panic overwhelming him completely, robbing him off his breath - what if those cracks had been caused by Death Eaters that had arrived?  
But then the arms loosened their grip and he was allowed to look around - for a second at least, before he was shoved behind the Potions Master's form.  
Wands at the ready, the teachers that had followed them, Severus included, immediately formed a loose circle around Harry as they searched the area for any threats, Snape physically ensuring that Harry was behind him and within the circle by reaching behind and placing his palm against the boy's form so that he could feel his presence while he scanned the area with his eyes narrowed.  
Shaking off the aftereffects of apparition Harry looked around to try and determine where exactly they were and he took a deep breath at the beauty of the - garden they were standing in, because surely that couldn't be a graveyard. It was as he had always imagined: a comfortable path was winding itself through the garden that was filled with trees and flower beds and - well, graves of course. But somehow it didn't have the same shadowy foreboding as the Riddle graveyard had shown. It was calm, and it was peaceful, and it was - breathtaking.  
"You can let go now." Snape softly said and looking down Harry noticed that his hand was still fisted around a handful of Snape's robes. Embarrassed, he immediately released the fabric.  
"Sorry," Harry muttered softly, hoping that none of the others had seen his death-like grip on Snape's sleeves, on his father's sleeves.  
"The area appears secure." Acheron quietly spoke. "Dmitri and Wohehiv, you two stay with Severus and Harry. Bassam and Kimya, please go and cover the entrance, Ragnar and Manuel, you two secure the nearby environments, while Traianos and I will keep an eye on the area inside the graveyard."  
There wasn't any discussions and he realized that they were on not their first mission as they seemed to be a well-coordinated team, most likely even better coordinated than the order was.  
Having his hand placed on Harry's shoulder he was leading the boy towards the grave he knew was Lily's and with some satisfaction he noticed that the flowers on the grave were not dead yet, dying, but not dead yet and that was a sign that there was someone who was looking after the grave from time to time - a comforting thought, he couldn't help thinking, even though he knew - it was just a grave with the mortal remains - but to know that there was someone who remembered Lily, who cared for her still, that was a comforting thought. If only they had cared for her child as much as they cared for her grave.  
Knowing that the boy surely wouldn't know what to do he took a deep breath and then approached the grave, knelt down and ran his fingers over the dry earth for a moment, over the dying plants, a silent "Lily" on his lips, remembering, and allowing the pain of the loss to overwhelm him for a moment, allowing the sadness to make itself known for a moment, because, yes - Wohehiv clearly was right, he still loved her, he still loved Lily, and he always would, never mind how long ago she'd gone.  
"Why don't you go to the grave, boy?" He heard Dmitri's usually gruff voice asking, followed by Harry answering with a "don' wanna disturb the Professor" and he took another deep breath before waving the child over.  
"Come here, Harry." He said, gently, knowing that he had to take the lead here. "You are not disturbing me, child. Why don't you take the flowers we have brought from your backpack while I'm digging up this dying plants?"  
There wasn't an answer, but he hadn't expected one either, not from a child that barely spoke more than was necessary and not from a child that was rendered to muteness upon sadness, shock or excitement even, and surely not in a situation where the child clearly was deeply moved. A moment later he could feel movement beside him and then Harry was kneeling beside him, moving slowly, taking the plants from his backpack, carefully and with trembling fingers.  
"These plants are not dead yet, just dying, Harry, that means that there is someone who's looking after Lily's grave from time to time." He explained to the child, hoping that the boy would draw the same comfort from the information as had he himself. "We'll replant it anyway. Why don't you put them into the earth now? Just like this. You'll need to put the earth back to cover the roots and to make sure that the plant will be stabilized and won't break. I'll dig up the other dying plants in the meantime so that you can plant the others too. Well, Lily, now you look at your son. He's grown, hasn't he?" He then started speaking with Lily, smiling at the startled look the boy regarded him with for a moment. "Imagine my shock when I heard that he's never been to your grave, Lily. I've been furious with Petunia. You know, your sister has done a lot of stupid things over the years, but what she did with Harry - Merlin. I guess denying him a visit to his mother's grave was one of the less deathly things she had denied him. There have been a few things I have learned lately, you know? And imagine my shock when I've been told that Harry is my son. Why have you never told me? And don't tell me that you didn't know about it, you've been too clever to not knowing about it. You idiot woman! You do realize that I could have kept our son safe and out of your sister's hands? But well, that's a moot point now, isn't it, my love? I have him here now and that is more than I could have hoped for. Imagine me, Severus Snape, having a son, Lily. I've sworn an oath once, to keep your son safe - I will swear the same oath again now, I will keep our son safe with my life, Lily. Why don't you light the candle you have brought, Harry? But chose well where you place it, because it's an everlasting candle and neither will it ever extinguish nor will anyone be able to take the candle or to put it someplace else. I have lit this candle over there nearly fourteen years ago and it is still burning."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Had he heard correctly? Potter had never before been allowed at his mother's grave?  
His own mother had died when he'd been a child still, but he'd been allowed at her grave regularly and whenever he wanted, what only was right. And he remembered that he'd drawn a lot of strength and comfort from those visits. And suddenly he understood why Acheron had agreed to the boy visiting Great Britain during the school-year, despite the danger he was getting himself into with such a foolish move - just that, in this case it wasn't a foolish move at all.  
He didn't like the fact that they could be attacked by a bunch of Death Eaters at any moment, while on the other hand, well - let them come, there would be a few Death Eaters less in the upcoming war England clearly had to face. For a moment he wondered how it was that Snape had known that they might watch that graveyard, seeing that generally no one would have someone watching a graveyard for fourteen years, that was just ridiculous, but then, Snape had been living here during the first wizarding war that had been upon England, and so of course he had to know the enemy's moves.  
"We need to go, Harry." Snape said about half an hour later and upon looking at the small form kneeling beside Snape, well, Dmitri couldn't help pitying the boy. What was half an hour when the child had been denied this visit for fourteen years?  
"Can't." Was all the boy was whispering in his rough voice and for a moment he wondered why it even was so rough in the first place - so clearly overstrained.  
"Even in the darkest of nights, I still know that the morning will come." He heard Snape. Out of the corner of his eyes he made out Acheron approaching them, looking worried and clearly impatient. "I know that upon Winter Summer will follow, that upon coldness warmth will come and that upon darkness there will be light. I also know that the ingredients to the draught of the living death will be the same in hundreds of years as they are now. I know that I can trust in these facts, Harry child - as can you. We are living in dark and in dangerous times, but they won't stay like this and you will be able to come back one day."  
"We need to go." Acheron whispered at him, softly enough so that neither Snape nor Potter could hear him. "We cannot linger here too long."  
"Have you seen Death Eaters?" He asked, the fingers that had gripped his wand hidden beneath the sleeve of his cloak gripping the wand tighter in preparation of an attack.  
"No." Acheron said. "But they have been here. I can feel their lingering presence."  
He nodded, taking the few steps towards Snape, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.  
"We need to go." He softly whispered and he was satisfied that the man immediately inclined his head in understanding.  
"Come now, Harry." Snape said, pulling the boy to his feet and even though he hadn't heard the boy crying, he could now see the tears that ran down the pale face. Turning away he allowed them a last moment of privacy. He was a harsh man, he knew that, but even _he_ knew that in a situation like this a child was allowed to cry.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"When we apparate to Privet Drive, you will stay behind me." He said after Harry had calmed down a bit. "We will apparate a few yards away from your uncle's house. Once the area has been deemed safe, we will approach the house and go inside as quickly and with as less commotion as possible. Stay with me the entire time that we are inside too, I would like to know you being safe in there."  
He had pulled the boy to his feet after Dmitri had informed him that they needed to go, most likely Acheron having noticed something and even though he had gripped his wand beneath his sleeves, he had pulled the boy into his arms to hold him for a moment, allowing the child that bit of comfort at least and now he hoped that upon the apparition the teen would be alright - at least to a minimum possible.  
Within a moment everyone was gathered between two houses of Privet Drive, close to number four, Harry once again clinging to Snape's robes as they disapparated and then reappeared a few houses down from his aunt and uncle's house. The group of teachers immediately spread out, looking up and down the road while they were holding their wands discretely up their sleeves encase muggles wandered by while Harry was staring at the house, trying to get clear with the fact that number four was just a few doors down from where they had apparated. It had been several weeks since he had been inside the house and he wasn't alone, was accompanied and protected by several adult wizards, but even though - he knew that the moment he stepped inside the house another hell would break loose, because his uncle wouldn't like it, not one bit.  
Of course he knew that Snape was angry and wanted nothing more than facing the Dursleys to punish them - even though he didn't understand _why_ Snape would be angry at them, nor why he would even wish to punish them. But well, he guessed that this was one of the strange things around Snape he would have to get used to, because the older wizard had made his point clear two days earlier.

**Flashback**  
_Frowning he looked up from the letter and out of the window for a moment, not really sure if he'd understood the first part of the letter. _  
_He'd asked to be excused after he'd finished lunch and Snape had allowed him to leave the table. He'd run back to their house and he'd run upstairs and then into his room, closing the door and he'd cast a privacy charm over his room before opening the envelope with his fingers trembling more than they normally did. But somehow, either Hermione had grown even more intelligence than she'd owned last year, or he'd gotten stupid somehow - because he had to re-read the letter, just to make sure that he really understood. _  
_'Harry,_  
_I hope you are well in Canada and I hope you're not angry at me for not sending a letter sooner, but correspondence with any person outside of Hogwarts has become rather difficult since Umbridge has taken over the post of the DADA teacher and the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. Already during the welcoming speech she has - in other words - said that the ministry was interfering with Hogwarts intern matters and now she has taken over the school and she has set most of the teachers on probation while establishing several degrees like: 'no student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.' or like 'the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members._  
_I can't write much as any owl-post is banned from being sent, but I have found a way to bypass this rule - if the missive has less than 200 words - it isn't considered a letter but a short notice.'_  
_"Harry?" Came Snape's dark voice from the doorway and he looked up, startled. He hadn't noticed the man getting through his charms, wasn't even sure if he liked it, that Snape was able to, but on the other hand - the worried look on Snape's face somehow was balm on his cracked and withered and hurt soul, and he easily calmed down, reaching the letter at his teacher, at his father, with a questioning look on his face._  
_Snape read through the few words before handing him the notice back. _  
_"I have always known that miss Granger is a clever girl, Harry." Snape then said and he nearly blinked in shock, because it was one thing if Snape had stopped his hurtful comments about him, but giving a nice comment away about Hermione? That was something entirely different. "I am glad that she did find this way and I only can hope that she was right and didn't get into trouble. Yes, the girl is correct, because Umbridge is taking over the school slowly but surely, ordered by Fudge."_  
_"The minister?" He asked, shocked. _  
_If the minister - what was the minister's intentions even? He didn't understand._  
_"No, Fudge, the Quidditch player." Snape huffed at him and he couldn't help smiling, getting used to the man's humor. "Of course the minister. Fudge somehow fears that Dumbledore is planning on taking over the ministry and so he has sent Umbridge as High Inquisitor of Hogwarts."_  
_"Isn't that the woman that got me expelled?" He asked, still not understanding. Was Dumbledore really trying to become minister? He wouldn't put it past the headmaster, because Dumbledore had become more and more power-hungry during the past few years, but minister? Somehow he doubted that, because the minister wasn't anything else than a better doll of the society, was he? _  
_"Exactly." Snape answered. "I suggest that you do not send a letter to Hogwarts, Harry. If you are trying to respond to miss Granger's letter, then you might write a short note which I will send to a separate address so that your former head of house, Professor McGonagall will get the letter."_  
_"Sir?" He couldn't help asking, knowing that he sounded whining and most likely ungrateful too. "There - there wasn't a letter from Ron, was there?"_  
_"No, there wasn't Harry." Snape answered after he'd taken a deep breath. "But remember what miss Granger has written - outside correspondence is difficult and most likely your friend hasn't sent anything together with miss Granger's note, fearing that it would be counted as more than a two hundred word note. I am sure that he will write a letter himself as soon as it is possible for him."_  
_Well, he was relieved to hear that, because Snape's words - his father's words - sounded reasonably. Relief however was short-lived at the man's next words. _  
_"It has not escaped my attention however, that we have yet to discuss your relatives and the ways they mistreated you, Harry." Snape said and he sighed. "We desperately do need to talk about it, I think, and decide how they should be punished."_  
**End flashback**

"Are you alright?" Snape demanded, firmly grabbing Harry and turning him over, looking down at the boy seriously, worriedly. He knew that Harry was scared of going back inside that hated house - and with reason.  
"Sure." The bloody boy answered and he huffed at him.  
There were several nods from the other teachers, informing each other about the area being secured, and then he led the boy down the road and towards the house he knew Petunia Dursley and her husband lived in, followed by Wohehiv and Dmitri, just like before at the graveyard, knowing that the others would watch the area around number four Privet Drive.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Sitting down at the bench in the nearby park he watched Severus leading Harry towards the boy's uncle's house.  
Severus was keeping his hand on Harry's back, between his shoulder-blades to lead him, making sure that they got into the house quickly while not only keeping an eye up and down the street but also on the houses to his left and right.  
_'Well, the spy is never far from the surface, is he?'_ Acheron thought, smiling at the younger wizard and his son.  
The two had both come a far way since they had arrived at his school. Harry had been a mute boy who hadn't spoken with anyone while Severus had been a dark and cold man who had separated himself - and now Harry was speaking again and Severus was ready to step into a friendship with not only Wohehiv but Dmitri too. He didn't really know if the relationship between Severus and Wohehiv was only a plain friendship or if there was more, but that wasn't his business. Severus was interacting with the other teachers and that was more than he had hoped for in the beginning.  
Not to mention that he was taking his responsibilities very seriously, but that he had done from the beginning on, hadn't he? On the other hand - he had grown in that area since he had become Harry's father.

**Flashback**  
_"Is there a safe way to get rid of your mark, Severus?" He asked the moment the boy had fallen asleep and he cast a silencing charm around them, not wanting to scare the child should he wake early. "Dmitri has mentioned something earlier, but is it safe?"_  
_"I do agree with Dmitri." Severus answered. "If there is a way to do something, then there also is a way to reverse it - as long as it is not death. That is not what makes me worrying however."_  
_"What is it you are worrying about, Severus?" He asked, the man back._  
_"Well, unfortunately, with his discovery of me being Harry's father, I cannot continue my spying so we are in the dark."_  
_"Unlike you, Severus, I find that to be a good thing," He answered, not feeling sorry at all. "You have obligations now."_  
_"I am well aware of that, headmaster." His young teacher sighed. "However, I am also well aware of the fact that the monster I have previously served is after my son."_  
_"That he is, but as long as he is in Canada, he is under not only your but our protection as well and the moment he might have to leave the country, we will have to find other solutions."_  
**End flashback**

And other solutions they had found.  
None of the teachers had taken a second thought when he'd asked them to help protecting the two, Severus and Harry, while visiting England, and they all had immediately started making plans for their trip to the boy's graveyard and his relatives.  
He had started liking those two - and he would make sure that no harm would befall them, neither harm from that war, nor any kind of harm from themselves because they didn't allow themselves to heal. And he knew that they had to heal, not only Harry, but Severus too. Not only from the abuse from the child's relatives, but from Severus' former mentor too, not only from physical, but from mental torment too.  
They needed to allow themselves to heal and he would make sure that they did, that they would get all the time and all the chances they needed.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in Little robe**  
_A serious talk between one teacher and one student._

**Added author's note**  
thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

714 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

708 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

601 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

354 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife, on probation

* * *

**September 13th, 2013**

**Dear readers,**

just wish to inform you about another story – "… and sit a while with me …" – which will shortly start on the Profile of mrs. trabi here on fanfiction.

you will find some known persons in this story, and you will find one or another known incident in the story because the author of the story is me, even though I am posting this story not on my own profile but on my daughter's, and for several reasons so – one of it being because it's a rather unique story compared to my others.

more details you will learn while visiting mrs. trabi's profile:

www fanfiction net /u/2473886/mrs-trabi


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